


Home from Gralea

by littlemiss_m



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Blind Ignis, Canon Disabled Character, Child Abandonment, Child Neglect, Dad!Cor, Gen, Healing, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loss of Trust, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prompto Argentum Needs a Hug, Recovery, Self-Destruction, all the boys do, but especially prompto, cor is too good for this world, good titus drautos, insecure gladio, mentions of past self-mutilation, orthorexia, possible eating disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-04 00:43:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 62,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13352892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemiss_m/pseuds/littlemiss_m
Summary: ”Ravus sent an airship for Luna, and the three of us left Altissia with her,” Noctis continued. ”His friends had located Prompto to Zegnautus Keep. The airship dropped us as close as it was safe to get, and then left to carry Luna to Tenebrae. We... it took us some time, but we made it. We found Prompto. I fought Ardyn – he was the Accursed, from the prophecy. I killed him, and – he almost killed me.”Four men divert an apocalypse and create their own future, Astrals be damned. They return home, and despite the glory of victory day, it is apparent to everyone that the war took its casualties.Still, somewhere past the pain and sorrow, a happy ending awaits.





	1. Regis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four heroes return home, victorious but wounded. Regis watches and listens, and hopes for a happier future.

It had been two weeks, a mere handful of days since the New Dawn, yet to those waiting, it had meant an eternity. Two weeks since the last daemon sighting, two weeks since the end of the Scourge. Two weeks during which the days had returned to their original lenght, the darkness of the nights receding. Two weeks since the fall of the Wall and the death of the crystal's magic. Two weeks since the realization that Noctis had fulfilled the prophecy and slain the Accursed King; but after that, nothing.

Regis stood taller than ever, shoulders strong under the weight of his coat, knee brace long forgotten. It had been two weeks since he woke up gasping for breath that came easier than in years, and while his physical ailments all but healed over the following his days, his worry grew without an end. The prophecy had come to pass, he'd known when he felt the magic die within his body; the prophecy that had called for the passing of his son and all connected to the crystal's magic. Three days later, they had received a message from Nifflheim, stating the death of Emperor Iedolas and the coronation of Lady Tummelt, now titled the Empress of Nifflheim, who had immediately reached out with an offer of peace. A new treaty would be written, and this time Lucis would be laying down the rules.

The prophecy had come to pass, but its conditions had not. Regis lived, as did the Oracle – as for Noctis, he could not tell.

For thirteen days, he had heard nothing. He had feared the worst, and there had been no way to learn the truth. For thirteen long days and nights he had sat with Clarus and Cor by his side, waiting, while his men everywhere in Lucis worked to gather information. Despite his improving health, he'd felt old and tired between the seemingly endless speeches and adressess, the council meetings piling atop each other, the news rolling in from Niflheim and Tenebrae and the remnants of Accordo. He'd almost lost hope. Then, one day, Centis Scientia had dashed into the room, phone in hand, tears in his eyes – yet he'd been smiling, and the last weights had fallen from Regis' shoulders.

”They're alive,” Centis had whispered, thrusting the phone into Regis' hands. ”They're in Hammerhead – all four of them, thank the Astrals!”

After that, everything had happened fast; Cor had sent men for Hammerhead with four uniforms for the returning heroes, and Regis had walked before the press and their cameras, his head held high as he told the world the news of his son's survival. He'd spun tales of an old prophecy, two kings of light and darkness battling in an Astral-ordained war. He'd already had to explain the Wall's disappearance to a terrified Crown City, and the news of the crystal's magic disappearing had left all of Insomnia in disarray as people tried to accept a world without the threat of Starscourge and daemons. In the outskirts of Lucis, the difference had been immediate – both daemons and MTs disappearing overnight – but within Insomnia, the only visible change was the fallen Wall, once a sign of absolute safety, now nothing more but a mere memory.

People adapted, but not that fast.

”Fear not!” Regis had cried out before his people, seeing the scared, the sceptics, the jubilants all together in the crowds. ”Dawn is come! The scourge is burned off Eos and all of mankind are free again! Tomorrow, my son returns a hero and a savior, and while our magic may be gone, we still stand in your protection. The Starscourge has been vanquished, a great evil defeated, and the Empire has fallen back from our borders. We have won the daemons and the scourge; we will win our peace as well.”

Now, less than twenty hours later, he stood on the stairs of the Citadel with Clarus and Cor, waiting. Soldiers in their formal uniforms lined the stairs and kept the masses back from the path cleared in wait of a single, black car; above them, the sky was clouded, promising rain and thunder, but the awaiting people were full of cheer and hope, and nothing could take it from them, it appeared. Regis smiled and waved at the little army of camera crews surrounding the stairs.

He felt good.

The Regalia arrived into the plaza, surrounded by screams and shouts. The first drops of rain began to fall as the car came to a stop before the steps. By Regis' side, Clarus straightened up. ”Gladio is driving,” he murmured into Regis' ear.

”So I see,” Regis whispered back, eyes on the car. A heavy weight settled in his stomach, yet years of experience kept the bright smile on his face. For Ignis to not be driving... Regis refused to entertain any thoughts until he saw all four men out of the car.

Gladio was smiling when he opened the door for Noctis, who exited the car with the same expression he always wore during public appearances. They both looked well enough, Regis thought; worn and tired, yes, but otherwise healthy.

Then the two other doors opened. Prompto was the first to scamper out of his seat in the front, and as soon as he was out, a shocked sound echoed through the people. Even Cor drew in a sharp breath at the sight of the blond man, a shadow of his old self, all skin and bones under fatigues that had been tailored to fit mere months before and now hung loose and shapeless. He'd plastered on his usual grin and waved at the masses as he rounded the back door, but whatever effects that may have had in the people were lost in the sounds of surprise as Ignis stepped into everyone's view. Terrible burns covered almost half of his face, and as soon as he took hold of Prompto, it became clear that the wounds were far from superficial.

Regis allowed himself a brief show of sympathy, his smile mellowing while someone in the crowds started the cheers once more. The rain had begun to fall properly, dark clouds gathering in the horizon, and he knew the parades would be short-lived. Still, he waited patiently as Noctis and his friends collected themselves, waving at people and holding a short conversation before turning to face the stairs and the three men waiting at the top. Gladio handed the car keys to a Crownsguard and then they began their climb, Noctis at the front and Gladio just behind him, Ignis and Prompto following at the back. Regis watched them all, took in the heads held high and the pained eyes, and knew that the war had taken its casualties.

”Your majesty,” Noctis called out as he approached Regis. ”I've returned from my mission.”

There were many things Regis could have called him; the King of Dawn, the vanquisher of evil, the end of the scourge. Yet, of all the options, he chose the one he had spoken hundreds of times before, from the first cry against a silent night to their last meeting on those very same stairs.

”My son,” he said, and pulled Noctis into his arms.

* * *

Moments later they stood inside a small room in the Citadel, away from the cameras and celebrating citizens, and Regis could only sigh as he grasped his son by the shoulder, sharing a look with him before casting his eyes around the room. Ignis and Prompto still held onto each other, and the more he watched them, the more he found himself wondering which of the two men was the one doing the supporting. Ignis, though very obviously at least partially blind, seemed almost surprisingly well adjusted; Prompto, on the other hand, had slumped into himself as soon as they stepped inside, away from the prying eyes. Out on the stairs, Regis had been horrified to see just how thin and sickly the blond man looked, but nothing had shocked him more than the mangled left hand he hadn't been able to see until he'd shaken hands with Ignis and then turned towards the youngest of the four.

”You all look tired,” Regis spoke after a moment of quiet. ”There are no official events or anything else too important for any of you four today, though it would be best for Noctis to start working on a speech somewhat soon...”

He had expected a groan, but instead he saw Noctis dip his head. Something bloomed inside Regis' heart right then, something warm but old, and he realized the past three months had made his son a man, a prince ready for his crown. His eyes threatened to well up at the realization.

”In that case, I believe it best for both Prompto and myself to head for the medical wing,” Ignis said, attempting a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, never mind the usual polite quirk that Regis had gotten used to over the years. ”Gladio, perhaps you ought to come as well? His Highness is uninjured, though I imagine a full physical would still be beneficial.”

”So schedule an appointment, then.” Noctis shot a quick grin in Ignis' direction before seeming to realize the other couldn't see him. ”Uh, you three go your way and I'll get dad up to date with what's happened, yeah?”

”Sure thing,” Gladio replied. ”Dad, I'll come find you after.”

Clarus nodded. ”I'll be by the offices. See you there.”

They separated after that, Regis still holding Noctis by the shoulder as he led his son, Clarus, and Cor towards his office. Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto went their own way, though Regis couldn't miss the way the young blond's entire body seemed to tremble by Ignis' side. There was a story there, he knew, and he wouldn't enjoy hearing it.

The number of guards and other staff members they ran into was larger than it should have been, yet Regis could not scold the Crown's servants for wanting to welcome their prince back from his long journey. Numerous greetings and thank-yous slowed their walk, but watching his son accept the words with a new kind of gratitute was enough of a gift for Regis, and so he didn't try to hurry it along. His son had grown much more than the three months he'd been gone, and he knew he wasn't the only one who could see it.

Eventually they did reach the offices, and all four of them piled into the lounge, taking their seats wordlessly. Regis shrugged off his rain-soaked coat and rested it on the back of a wooden chair before lowering himself onto a soft, velvet couch. Noctis slouched into an armchair, head thrown back and hands on his face, the very picture of exhaustion; Regis sent a quick text to the kitchens and asked for something light to snack on.

”I don't even know where to start,” Noctis groaned, more tired than petulant. ”Everything went to shit so fast I still don't understand all that happened.”

Regis chuckled. ”The Scourge is gone, as are the daemons and most of Niflheim's army. I would think that's clear enough a sign of what exactly went down.”

”Well, yeah.” Clearly restless, Noctis rose and walked to the side, where he pulled a bottle of water from a hidden mini-fridge. ”I killed what Luna called the Accursed king, which I'm pretty sure means I fulfilled the prophecy, even though I'm. You know. Alive. As are you.”

Regis grimaced and waited until Noctis had returned to his seat before replying. ”I'm just as confused as you are,” he said slowly. ”This is – this is not how I thought things would go. Nevertheless, the fact is that the Scourge is gone and the crystal's magic along with it, and that can only signal one thing. I've talked to Lady Lunafreya and she agrees with me. This is obviously not the future that the Astrals scripted for us, but perhaps... perhaps this is one with a much happier end. I don't know how it came to be, but here we are.”

A silence followed his speech, all four men obviously lost in thought. They'd known the sacrifice for the future of mankind would be great, and for that sacrifice to be rendered unneeded... Regis had prepared himself for his own death. He'd prepared himself his son's death, and many, many other deaths as well, and none had been asked for. It was a soul-shaking feeling, living through what one had believed to be a certain death.

”We were able to track your journey until Altissia,” Cor said eventually, leaning forward until his elbows rested on his knees. ”We know what happened there, at least summarily, but we have nothing about the last month and a half after that.”

Noctis sighed, obviously bracing himself. ”Right,” he murmured, glancing up. ”Altissia. Um – Ignis lost his sight there. Something blew up next to him, and the doctors couldn't do anything for his sight.”

”He seems well adjusted,” Clarus commented.

”He is,” Noctis grinned, full of pride rather than joy. ”I was in stasis for a while so I wasn't there to see it, but Gladio says that Ignis was up and practicing his stances before the doctors even gave him the clear for it.”

Laughter bubbled deep in Regis' chest and he let it out, relieved to hear the news. There would still be plenty of healing and learning ahead of Ignis, but for the bright young man to return home his old, fiercely burning self... It was a blessing Regis hadn't dared ask for, not after seeing him stumble out of the car aided by Prompto's guidance.

It appeared the young blond was in all their minds, for Cor soon asked after him: ”And what's wrong with Prompto?”

Noctis sipped at his drink silently and Regis' heart ached over the look on his face. ”In Altissia,” he began his story, voice haunted and eyes staring vacantly at the bottle of water in his hands. ”Secretary Claustra asked for our help in evaquating the city, and the four of us separated. During the battle, Prompto managed to get one of those tiny Magitek airplanes to work and helped me to Leviathan.”

He paused there and Regis thought back to the short video clips people had managed to film during the battle in Altissia. Noctis and Lunafreya, both standing before the Hydraean as seawater rained upon them and Imperials flooded the area. Then it was Lunafreya on her own, facing a man with red hair and dark clothes; the Chancellor of Niflheim, who'd turned out a monster like no other when Prompto swooped down between them and took the man's life with one, well-aimed shot.

Only that hadn't been the end of it. Izunia had stood, ichor on his face, and Prompto had barely hesitated. The last seconds of the video showed Izunia falling down for a second time as Prompto took Lunafreya's hand and pulled her into the flying machine he'd arrived on.

”There is video footage of Prompto saving Lady Lunafreya's life while you fought Leviathan,” Clarus spoke, sharing a look with Regis. ”Both Lucis and Tenebrae celebrate him as a hero.”

”Yes, that is true.” During their first meeting years earlier, Regis' sudden appearance at his son's apartment had been enough to work Prompto into a panic attack. He'd come to adore the boy long before the meeting – the smiles on Noctis' face had been enough for him – but never would he have expected to see that shy little boy grow into one of the biggest heroes of their time.

A small smile curved Noctis' lips as he continued his story. ”Luna says that the machine crashed down after one of Leviathan's attacks hit it,” he said. ”Neither her or Prompto were badly injured, but they were surrounded by Imperials, more than he could handle. He managed to get her someplace safe and told her to hide, which she did. And that's the end of what she could tell us.”

A knock at the door interrupted the story and Noctis fell silent as Clarus stood up and walked over to let the servant in. One of the maids stepped into the room, pushing a food trolley before her. She unloaded the foods on the coffee table – sandwiches, juice, small cakes and steaming-hot tea – and curtsied, smiling at Noctis.

”The kitchen staff is happy to welcome you home, your Highness. Please enjoy your lunch.”

”Thank you,” Noctis replied, dismissing the maid. ”I will.”

The maid took her leave and for a moment, the discussion was forgotten as the four men reached for the food. Regis smirked when he saw the lack of vegetables in most of the sandwiches; the kitchen staff truly must have been happy to have Noctis back in Insomnia.

”What happened next, after Prompto and Lady Lunafreya separated?” Clarus asked after a while. He was holding a teacup that seemed far too dainty in his large hands.

Noctis finished his first sandwich before answering. ”The thing is, we had no idea. I was in stasis, Iggy was hospitalized – the doctors weren't sure if he'd even make it, I was told – and Gladio and Luna were looking everywhere, but they couldn't find him.” Darkness fell over his eyes; Regis felt the same. ”When I woke up, Iggy was sitting by my bed. I saw those scars and thought the situation was bad. Then he told me that while Luna was alive, they had nothing on Prompto, and that it had been a week since the battle. He... he said it would be best to assume him dead.”

Regis was no stranger to loss. Over the years he had watched people die, some peacefully, others less so. He'd killed people with his own hands, and he had barked orders for others to kill for him. He'd watched his kingdom begin to crumble at the edges as the Empire made its prowess known. All that blood, all on his hands; it hurt to see his son experience the same, no matter how inevitable it was. The King in him was proud, but the father wished he could have protected his song just a bit longer. Regis reached for a tea cake and waited.

”Then, a day after I woke up, Luna received word from Ravus,” Noctis continued, voice hoarse but no longer breaking. ”He'd heard from some of his... friends, or acquintances, back in Niflheim that Ardyn had brought a captured soldier with him when he returned from Altissia. It was... it was pretty clear who it was, even for Ravus. He said he was incredibly thankful for what Prompto had done for Luna, and that he'd give all the aid he could, but that he couldn't leave Tenebrae without risking all his people – that was right after he'd managed to drive most of the Imperials out.”

Regis nodded, remembering the first call from Tenebrae after Ravus, supported by a small army and a band of Imperial revolutionaries, had managed to take over Zoldara Henge overnight. The situation was precarious, and Regis would have sent support if he'd had any to spare – the Glaives too busy holding up Lucian borders – but somehow, Ravus had made it work. He'd taken back Fenestala Manor and by the end of the week, most of Tenebrae was back under his control, uncertain but hopeful. Now that the Imperial army had diminished to its barest bones, a new Empress on the throne, the borders of both Tenebrae and Lucis were secure for the first time in years, though plenty of hurt and grief still remained in the battle-broken, blood-soaked areas.

”Ravus sent an airship for Luna, and the three of us left Altissia with her,” Noctis continued. ”His friends had located Prompto to Zegnautus Keep. The airship dropped us as close as it was safe to get, and then left to carry Luna to Tenebrae. We... it took us some time, but we made it. We found Prompto. I fought Ardyn – he was the Accursed, from the prophecy. I killed him, and – he almost killed me.”

Regis didn't know which words to focus on; Prompto's fate had only been alluded to, the beginning and the end clear, the middle easy to deduce, yet the prophecy and his son's fight against the Scourge called for him. ”What happened?” he asked, softly, reaching to hold one of Noctis' hands in his own. The skin was dry and cracking, covered in small scars and new callouses.

”Ignis and Prompto were both unable to fight him, and there wasn't much Gladio could do either.” Noctis glanced up at Clarus. ”So I fought him. I killed him. I – I'm not sure how it happened, exactly, because even though I had the covenants I didn't have the ring, but somehow it worked out. I killed him, and as he died, I just – knew that the Scourge was gone, and that the prophecy had been fulfilled. But... Ardyn, he managed to wound me. He ran his sword through my chest. I – I should've died there.”

A cold hand clutched at Regis' heart and he sought out Noctis' eyes, taking in the thin, watery smile and the lone hand pressed against his heart. ”Iggy and Gladio tried using potions on me, but they had no effect. I remember wanting to see Prompto, but he wouldn't come near – he stood away, and just stared at me. Then all of sudden, he ran to Ardyn's body – it hadn't yet disappeared, so I think he was still alive – and kept on digging through the pockets. I couldn't see it, but Iggy and Gladio told me later on that Gladio'd tried to stop him, but just as he'd reached him, Prom had pulled a Phoenix Down from one of Ardyn's pockets.”

The rest of that story had no need to be repeated out loud; Regis was sure that Clarus and Cor understood the meaning just as clearly as he did. Prompto had not only saved Lunafreya, but Noctis as well – though at the cost of his own wellbeing, it seemed.

”How long was Prompto gone?” Cor asked, voice tight. Noctis closed his eyes.

”Ardyn had him for five weeks.”

Five weeks. It was a long time to be held prisoner, no matter the kidnapper, but the whispers that followed Izunia wherever he went... Regis sighed into his hands and wondered if praying for the Astrals' mercy would still be taken kindly. ”He was tortured, wasn't he? Starved, and his hand...”

The expression on his son's face showed a shadow of a fury unlike anything Regis had never seen before, and in that moment, he knew just how merciless Izunia's end had been.

”Yeah,” Noctis murmured, staring into the distance. ”He was pretty badly beaten when we found him, and apparently Ardyn had been healing him too, so who knows how bad it really was. It's – it's not really the physical injuries we're worried about.”

The last words were a whisper, barely audible. Regis held back a sigh and shared a look with Cor, whose stony expression had only hardened the further the story advanced.

”Ardyn was able to change his appearance,” Noctis explained. Regis felt nothing but horror when the words registered in his mind; he knew where the story was headed. ”Prom hasn't really told us much of what happened, but apparently Ardyn would pretend to be Iggy, Gladio, or me, and taunt him. He's... It's fine if all of us together, but whenever I'm alone with him, he'll look at me like he's unsure if I'm Ardyn or the real me. It's the same with Iggy and Gladio. He's just... scared of us.”

Since the moment they entered the room and took their seats on soft couches and armchairs covered in luxurious black velvet, Regis had seen many different emotions cross Noctis' voice. He'd been sad, he'd been scared, he'd been furious... yet none of it compared to the dejected pain in his wet eyes as he explained how he'd watched his best friend, his brother in all but blood, shy away from him in fear. Worry had colored his voice when he spoke of Ignis' injuries, but he – like Regis himself – had known that the advisor would rise above his blindness and continue by Noctis' side. Prompto, on the other hand... Five weeks of torture was a long time. Five weeks of learning to distrust everything you had ever known to be true was even longer.

Regis looked up at Clarus and Cor, dismissing them with a nod of his head. The two men stood and left, Clarus clapping a hand on Noctis' shoulder as he passed. The door closed behind them and Regis found himself falling to his knees before his crying son.


	2. Cor I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After listening to Noctis' side of the story, Cor heads out to hear what Prompto has to say. As always, the truth hurts.

Despite the tremendous changes during the past weeks, the Citadel staff worked like a well-oiled machine, people walking the hallways with purpose, guards standing straight and proud at their assigned posts. There was nothing out of place when Cor stalked his way to the medical wing, but even the knowledge that things were alright was not enough to sate the feeling of dread in his guts.

The main lobby was empty of patients, as it usually was – the staff tended to direct people into the hallways and waiting areas in the depths of the sprawling wing, not that there were a lot of patients to take care of in the first place – as Cor stopped at the nurses' station. The man behind the desk nodded at him and raised to greet him. ”Scientia or Argentum?” he asked, clearly anticipating Cor's intentions in a way that earned a pleased smirk from the soldier.

”Give me the brief on both,” Cor said, leaning against the desk. ”Gladiolus has already left, then?”

The nurse nodded and pulled open a file on his computer. ”He left almost immediately, sir. Let's see... Scientia was supposed to see an ophthalmologist, and since there are no new notes on his file, I imagine he's currently being seen to. Argentum, on the other hand... He's been through a physical, but he has a long line of surgeons and councelors still waiting for their turns, though there's a note here saying he's so tired that most of the appointments have been moved up to tomorrow and the day after.”

Cor thought of the skeletal man dragging his feet up the Citadel stairs and frowned. Tired didn't even begin to explain the trembling exhaustion apparent in every single step Prompto had taken before Cor's eyes.

”Right. Where are they?”

”Scientia is likely either in or near Dr. Cuprum's office – he's the ophthalmologist on duty – which is on the next floor, room 372. Argentum is in room 106.”

106 – one of the nice rooms, where people ended up when they had to stay for more than a few hours. Though there were a few dozens of rooms reserved for patients, only ten of them – divided into two sets of five – were in use around the year. If he was correct, there were only two other patients on the floor, and their ailments were physical rather than mental; a secretary with a badly broken leg and a Glaive who'd had a run-in with a burning MT airship.

Cor had seen it coming as soon as he saw Prompto exit the car, but the reality of it still left an ashy taste in his mouth. The nurse must have seen the tightening of his expression since he continued to speak while scrolling through Prompto's file.

”He's severely malnourished and a bit dehydrated, but on the physical side of things, there's no reason for him to stay past the examinations. He's still waiting for a mental evaluation, though. The doctor who did his physical notes that he's skittish and very likely suffering from PTSD, but she didn't mark him as a stay-in, so it's possible he'll be allowed to go home later tonight.”

The news were better than Cor had expected, yet he'd seen enough trauma in his life to know that things were rarely as simply as a line of words printed on a piece of paper. A sudden thought struck him and he remembered the day when Prompto had been formally initiated into the Crownsguard and how the blond had gazed across the guests in search of his own parents, who hadn't showed up. The next day, when Cor had sought him out to say his goodbyes before the prince took off for his journey, he had quietly admitted that it had been well over a year since the last time he'd heard a word from his parents. After the events of Altissia had been publicized on TV, Cor had waited by his phone for calls that never came.

”He'll be staying at the Citadel no matter what – if his parents are still marked as his emergency contacts, you should replace them with His Highness and his retinue.”

Whatever the nurse thought of the words, he didn't comment on it, instead typing quick words on a noisy keyboard. When he stopped, a brief look of surprise crossed his face and Cor felt his heart miss a beat. ”Oh – looks like the first surgeons have seen to him,” the nurse said, eyes gliding over lines of text. ”Hmm... his mental evaluation has been re-scheduled to later today, until after he's rested some, and all other appointments have been moved further.”

Cor sighed in relief. ”Is he allowed guests?”

”Uh... I can't see anything against it – there's a note here saying that... His Highness, Ignis Scientia and Gladiolus...” the nurse frowned. ”They're not allowed in Argentum's room by themselves, and without explicit permission from Argentum himself? Is that correct?”

Biting back curses, Cor nodded. ”They're a bit too close to the situation,” he said firmly, thinking back to the prince's explanations of a monster wearing the faces of Prompto's most trusted friends. ”May I see him, or...?”

”Oh! Well, uh, it's probably best if you ask the staff who are actually taking care of him, they'll be able to judge the situation better than I can, sir. Do you need directions to his room?”

Cor raised an eyebrow in answer and was pleased to see the nurse flush in embarrassment. Thanking the man, he turned around and made his way past soft seats and multiple plotted plants, to the elevators shining silver under the lobby's artificial lights. The carriage came quick and soon he stepped out into a room almost identical with the lobby on the previous floor. Two nurses were talking to each other in a corner; they smiled at Cor as he passed but made no attempts to stop him from wandering further into the maze of mostly empty hospital rooms, of which there were many more than would – hopefully – ever be needed.

Room 106 was at the end of a T-shaped hallway, a nurse's station right next to the intersection. Cor stopped there for a brief conversation with an older woman – one he'd already seen a time or two too many – who gave him permission to enter Prompto's room, as long as the blond himself allowed it.

A nervous voice called him in when he knocked on the door of Prompto's room, though Cor was glad to notice that the young man sounded more anxious than scared; he had more than enough experience in dealing with Prompto's anxiety, all thanks to the intensive training sessions before Noctis and his retainers had left to sign the peace treaty in Altissia. When Cor entered the room, he found Prompto seated cross-legged on a hospital bed, wearing gray sweats and a matching teeshirt, both too large on his skeletal body. The room had two large windows and a door leading to the covered balcony, and somewhere far across the city, thunder roared in the sky. The blond looked up at Cor and raised a large paper cup with a drinking straw in a greeting. ”Heyaz,” he said quietly, though a soft smile appeared on his face when Cor pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed.

”Hey there. They trying to fatten you up already?”

Someone else may have thought Cor's question insensitive, but Prompto grinned at him. He looked exhausted, face all dark shadows and bruised eyes, but there was something so normal in the brightness of his grin that Cor found himself responding with one of his own.

”I'd much rather be eating Iggy's cooking,” Prompto said, waving the cup around. ”He's spoiled me rotten!”

”There isn't much I wouldn't do for a dinner cooked by him,” Cor agreed. Prompto pulled the straw into his mouth and sucked, grimacing over the taste. ”How are you doing?”

Another grimace, somehow shy and embarrassed. Prompto looked at him through pale lashes and when he answered, his voice was quieter. ”I'm okay,” he said. ”Or I will be, anyways. Did – did Noct talk to you?”

Cor nodded. ”He let us know everything he knew, I believe. How's you hand? Someone came to look at it, right?”

”Yeah.” Prompto offered his left hand for Cor, who took it as carefully as he could. ”It's okay – it doesn't hurt at all.”

It was hard to believe, but Cor knew Prompto was terrible at lying about his own wellbeing. The hand was mangled, there was no other word to describe it – fingers crooked and deformed, tiny bones joined together in a lumpy mass under the scarred skin of his palm. The fingers moved, though, and Prompto was able to demonstrate a loose, powerless fist.

”The bones are all healed wrong,” the blond explained softly, sounding sad but not terribly upset. ”He – he broke them a lot of times, and gave me potions and Phoenix Downs after. The last time, before he broke it again, there was something really badly wrong with the nerves and it hurt so much I couldn't even stand up from the pain. But it's fine now.”

Cor knew who Prompto was talking about even without a name, and something cold grew inside him when he listened to the blond describe his injuries with a gentle, dejected voice, almost as if he was trying to comfort Cor rather than himself.

”The doctors who came earlier said it might be best to leave it as it is,” Prompto continued, flexing his hand. ”It really doesn't hurt at all, and there's enough movement that I can still do some things. The doctors said they want to take X-rays and an MRI before making any decisions, but they said, uh, they said that they're worried that surgery would only make things worse, since they'd have to break the bones again. Anyways, um, little things like buttons are hard, but I could still hold my camera! Probably not a gun, though.”

Prompto's expression brightened at the mention of his prized camera, then fell again. Cor continued to hold his hand. ”I think you've done your part of the fighting for now,” he said carefully. ”You've done far more than that, actually. I don't know if you're aware, but parts of the battle in Altissia were captured on film and most of the world considers you a hero for saving Lady Lunafreya – and that still doesn't include your part in helping His Highness with his mission.”

Prompto spluttered, flustered and obviously surprised – he hadn't known, then. Cor silenced him before he could attempt to refute his deeds. ”You will most likely be awarded medals by both Lucis and Tenebrae, perhaps even Accordo,” he continued, deciding it would be better to lay it all out on the table rather than let Prompto stew in uncertainty. ”Those days are still weeks, if not months, in the future, however, and you needn't worry over the issue right now.”

”Yeah...” Prompto murmured, eyes cast down so Cor couldn't see his face. The blond sucked another mouthful of whatever nutrient-laden slush he'd been given and set the cup down on his leg, twiddling with the plastic lid and the straw. Cor wasn't sure if there was something he was trying to say, or if he was simply waiting for Cor to continue the conversation, so silence fell into the room. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, the roar much closer and louder than earlier, and Prompto seemed to startle.

Finally, the blond opened his mouth again. ”What's going to happen next?” he asked quietly, carefully. Cor squeezed his hand and smiled.

”The doctors are going to take care of your health,” he started. ”You have a mental evaluation set for later today, and after that, the doctors you've seen so far will decide whether or not you should stay here.”

Prompto's entire body twitched nervously and he glanced up, looking so incredibly small and scared that Cor was reminded of the box of kittens he had once found outside, meowing pitifully as wet snow rained down from the sky and soaked their little bodies thoroughly. Today, one of those kittens still lived with Monica; the others had been homed elsewhere.

”I can't go home?” the blond asked, eyes wide and sorrowful.

”That's–” Cor sighed and ran a hand over his face, realizing there was yet another problem Prompto hadn't been made aware of. ”Okay, so two things are at play here. First of all, as I said, you're considered an international hero and the buzz is still going strong. Somehow, your personal address was leaked to the public, and as a result, someone broke into your apartment eight days ago. We've arrested the person and recovered all the stolen belongings, plus there's a Crownsguard posted at your door, but there's very little we can do about the press hovering right outside the building. It's simply not safe for you to return to your old place – not yet, at least.”

Despite growing up in Noctis' general vicinity, first as a classmate and then as a friend, Prompto had somehow managed to avoid the public eye, only popping up on an occasional article or a news scoop on the prince. Altissia and the recent events had brought massive changes to his status, and the realization that his privacy was gone was clearly a shock. Cor made a mental note to organize some media lessons for the young man – though the longer he thought about it, the more evident it became that he'd need to find someone to further tutor and educate Prompto on a large variety of issues. His Crownsguard training would only get him so far, and at the moment, asking Ignis for his tutelage would likely do more harm than good.

Prompto was silent, either lost in thought or too upset and overwhelmed to say anything. Cor sought out his eyes and drew a deep breath. ”The second issue... Prompto, you've just been through an incredibly traumatizing ordeal. The procedure for situations such as this calls for an evaluation to see where you stand at, and if there's a chance of you hurting yourself – either on purpose or by accident – then there's a chance they might want to keep you here under observation.”

Cor had expected to see Prompto attempt to curl further into himself, to try to build a greater distance between them, but instead he heard a short, bitter laugh bubble past cracked and reddened lips. ”I'm kind of fucked up right now, but not _that_ fucked,” the blond said, turning his head to stare out of the window. Cor blinked.

”Yeah?”

”Yeah.”

Prompto wasn't going to say anything else on his own, but Cor saw a chance and decided to take it. ”You wanna talk about it?”

A clock ticked on somewhere and rain pattered against the balcony's glass walls, Prompto's face empty and expressionless for a long, precarious moment. Cor, however, was beyond patient and so he waited until the blond blinked and tilted his head so he was staring at their joined hands. ”Shit, yeah, whatever,” he said in a jumbled mess, then stopped again. ”I don't – I don't know what to say thought.”

Cor smiled. ”That's okay – why won't you start at the beginning, yeah? What happened in Altissia?”

Prompto shook his head. ”He caught me after I left Luna.” He pulled his hand from Cor's grasp and let it curl on his own lap instead. ”He was mad because everyone kept ruining his plans and he wanted to make Noct mad, so he took me with him to Gralea. And. And that's the start. I guess.”

Cor eyed the young man before him, twitchy but not too uncomfortable. ”Noctis mentioned that he was able to use magic to change his appearance,” he said, seemingly noncommittal, yet nevertheless taking extreme care to not push Prompto too far too fast. The blond huffed out a breath, not quite a laugh, but something close.

”Yeah,” he murmured, bending and straightening the straw carelessly. ”Yeah, he did that. And – at first, he'd just walk into the room looking like Noct or Iggy or Gladio, and talk shit and slap me around some, but that was okay. That was okay, cause I knew Noct wouldn't – he wouldn't really call me that. Useless. Worthless. I knew it wasn't him, and then I knew Gladdy and Iggy weren't real either, but he didn't like that. Cause it wasn't fun for him.”

Throughout his speech – jumpy and choppy, voice either too high or too quiet – Prompto kept on glancing up at Cor, speaking a word or two before his head jerked up and his eyes sought out Cor's, only for him to turn away a split second later. Cor, for his part, listened and kept his face calm but not emotionless, smiling just so as he waited for more. It was obvious that there was plenty more to the story, and that they were about to reach the parts that caused Prompto the most distress; the same parts he hadn't been able to recite even for his closest friends.

When it became clear that continuing the story without being steered forward by Cor was impossible, the soldier leaned forward on his chair and began to talk instead. ”During your Crownsguard training, you had to take a series of lessons related to abductions and interrogation techniques. Do you remember?”

”Yeah.” Prompto laughed, humorless. ”Fat lot of good it did.” He placed his cup on the nightstand and curled into himself, bringing bony knees up to his chest and rocking his body on the mattress. Cor sighed and dragged his chair closer to the bed, until he could lean his side against the bed's metal frame.

”Hey,” he said, locking his gaze with Prompto's. ”I didn't bring it up to shame you, or to blame you for anything. I brought up the lessons because I know for a _fact_ that the first and last thing they teach you during them is that if your kidnapper intends to keep you alive, they're gonna try their best to get into your head. They're gonna try to find your cracks and what makes you tick. They're gonna make you distrust your own head so they can fill it with their own lies, and an unfortunate fact of life is that sometimes they'll succeed. When you're abducted, your only goal is to survive the event alive. That's enough. Escape isn't always possible, and sometimes all you can do is wait and try to hang on, no matter how bad the situation is or how long it lasts. You survived, and that's enough.”

Prompto's eyes were wet and he sniffled, but at the same time, the corners of his mouth turned up just a little. ”He really got into my head,” he admitted quietly. ”After – after a while he wanted to play a game with me. He'd – he'd set me free inside the Keep, and give me a gun, and just tell me to run. The longer I'd run, the less he'd hurt me after. He'd chase me and there'd be daemons and MTs but not a lot of people, except... except...”

He trailed off and looked at Cor, who – despite the horror building up inside of him – kept a brave face on and made an inquiring sound at the back of his throat. He had a good idea where the story was going.

”Sometimes I'd run into the others,” Prompto whispered, staring at Cor. ”And I never knew if they were real, cause Ardyn had learned and did his best to pretend. And, and – I'd run into Noct, and look at him, and I'd think – maybe it's Ardyn, but maybe it's the real Noct, except I had no way of knowing, most of the time. He – he pretended to be Luna twice, but both times I knew it wasn't her because – it was like in horror movies, when you walk into a monster and there's just this dark aura around it, yeah? It was like that, except Luna's, like, the holiest thing on Eos so it couldn't be her. And I was supposed to run, or he'd hurt me, and – and I had my gun.”

Cor resisted the urge to close his eyes. Prompto's entire demeanor was distraught and agitated, a feverish shine to his eyes. There was no need for an explicit statement when the implications were as heavy as they were. ”Prompto...” Cor began, but he was cut off when the blond continued to babble on.

”But I'd still run into Noct and Gladdy and Iggy, and I wouldn't know, so at first I'd run from them. But Ardyn's – Ardyn's really clever and he started cornering me, and then I couldn't run anymore,” Prompto cried out, seeking understanding but so obviously expecting the opposite. Cor's heart ached in a manner he hadn't felt in many, many years. ”So I'd be cornered somewhere and I didn't know what to do, and – it was Noct the first time and I'm sorry – I didn't know if it was him or Ardyn, but I had to get away, so I – I took out his knee. I took out his knee with my gun and he was on the ground, and I thought – I thought I'd wait to see how the daemons react, cause I figured they'd try to kill Noct but leave Ardyn be, and they didn't react at all so I just stepped over Noct and ran again. And every time after that when I saw one of the guys I'd shoot out their knees and–”

Prompto dissolved into tears and buried his face in his hands. Cor stared at the trembling shoulders and the mangled hand, found himself speechless at the sight of this little slip of a man, this _boy_ who'd somehow managed to keep his logic in a situation that rendered him a broken shadow of his old self.

”It's a good thing I was in the pod when the guys found me,” Prompto chuckled after a moment, wiping the worst mess from his face. ”I was – I was so scared when I saw them, because I'd thought that it'd be fine when they showed up, but then I looked at all three of them together and I thought that one of them could've been Ardyn in disguise, you know? And none of us could even use the Armiger because of the machine. Noct broke it, and the first thing – the first thing I asked him right after was to cut me off the crystal's magic. I was – I was more scared _for_ them than _of_ them. If you. Get what I mean.”

The last words were a quiet whisper, a desperate plea, and Cor let his eyes close shut. He took a breath. Counted to ten. Let it out once more and opened his eyes only to see Prompto looking like a man waiting for his execution.

”Prompto,” Cor breathed out, the name a prayer on his lips. ”By Shiva, Prompto, you–” He cut himself off there and tried to collect the straying thoughts unwilling to cooperate with his mouth. On the bed, Prompto flinched, as if expecting a punishment.

”Prompto,” Cor tried again, his voice firmer and more confident than earlier. ”Prompto. I can honestly say I do not know a single man as loyal as you are.”

The blond man froze and turned to stare at Cor, one eyebrow raised, words ready at his lips. ”I literally just confessed to shooting at someone knowing they might have been the Crown Prince,” he said. ”In case you missed that all. Sir.”

Despite wanting to laugh out loud over the sudden sass, Cor surpassed his grin and focused on staying calm instead, trying to find the correct words for what he needed to say. Prompto, for all his cheer and blinding joy, had been an extremely self-conscious person for all the time Cor had known him, and the older man was very aware of the blond's tendency to overthink and take every little thing to heart.

”I did hear you, loud and clear,” he eventually began. ”Sure, there was a chance you might have put His Highness in danger, but – _listen_ , Prompto, listen – _but_ you know what else I heard? You, choosing non-lethal tactics over killing. You, asking Noctis to cut you off the magic so you couldn't hurt him or the others. You, carefully planning your actions under extreme distress. You knew how bad a situation you were in, _and_ you knew just how badly it had affected you, and you _still_ put the others before you. You did the best you could and no-one will fault you for it.”

During his speech, Cor had watched as Prompto's head drooped down once again, eyes wet and streaking tears down his gaunt face. He was trembling and rocking his body, but the fear on his face had given way to desperation, leaving the blond looking like a kicked puppy begging for the littlest scraps of kindness in a world of terrible hurt and pain. Cor smiled, sad, and reached to bump his knuckles against Prompto's left hand.

”If you're still worried that you might hurt someone else, we can help you with that,” he spoke quietly. ”Your friends are already forbidden from visiting you alone and without permission – and that, too, was something you asked for because you wanted to help them, wasn't it? So let's add another rule and say that they're not allowed near you without someone else in the room, like myself or Clarus. Any issue you face, any trigger you have, we'll find a way around it. You're not the first of my men to go through shit like this, and you won't be the last one. All before you have gotten all the help they needed, and so will you.”

Cold fingers grasped for Cor's hand but no more words were spoken after that. Prompto cried, all ugly wet sobs and the occasional snort as snot blocked his throat, and through it all, Cor let his hand be held while he waited. Eventually Prompto calmed down, exhaustion taking over, and Cor got up to get him a cup of fresh water. As Prompto sipped at the cold liquid, Cor made to get up and leave – he'd been in the room for a few hours already, dinner time approaching fast – but as soon as he'd stood up, Prompto let out a sound like there was something more still in his mind.

”I killed the Emperor,” he said suddenly, and Cor found himself choking on thin air. He'd been amongst the first Lucians to hear the news of Iedolas' passing, but the new Empress had been either unable or unwilling to elaborate on the specifics of his death. Briefly, Cor wondered if she even knew the truth of what had happened. ”He was in the Keep and one day, when I was running around, I saw him and I figured – I had a gun and he was there and he wasn't really a good guy, you know? So I figured that maybe, maybe it would be okay to – kill him. That maybe it'd do some good. So I shot him, and he was the real him and not Ardyn, so he died.”

Prompto's entire demeanor screamed embarrassment, like he was unsure whether he'd receive praise or criticism. Cor laughed, shocked and more than a little proud. ”A new Empress sits the throne, one that has already reached out with offerings of peace and willingness to re-gift autonomy to all countries invaded during Iedolas' reign. It's probably best to keep silent about this for the time being, but in the future... you really don't do things by halves, do you?”

Prompto giggled nervously and Cor shook his head, unbelieving, a wide grin still on his face. ”Not only did you help end the Starscourge, you've also very likely brought upon us an age of peace – or, that's what the hopeful are thinking right now. Only time will show the Empress' true colors, but regardless of her intentions, the Imperial army is in shambles and their government overthrown. I'd say that's a job well done, kid,” he said. ”Is there something else on your heart that you want to tell me?”

”Are you – is there somewhere you need to be?” the blond asked shyly.

”It's nothing that can't wait,” Cor answered. ”Do you want me to stay?”

”Uh, um,” Prompto mumbled, glancing between the balcony door and Cor. ”It's just – I didn't really see much out of the car when we came and I – I kind of, um, want to see? If everything's still okay? It's okay if I'm not allowed to or if you're busy but–”

”Prompto,” Cor cut in, smiling. ”It's okay. Let me get you something warmer to wear.”

The blond grinned, still somewhat shy, and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. Cor tried not to cringe as the movement pulled at Prompto's clothes, showing just how skinny the blond had become, and walked up to the closet standing next to the door. Instead of handles, the closet doors had shallow indentations just deep enough for Cor to dip his fingertips into. Like all the other pieces of furniture in the room, the closet was free of screws and nails and anything sharp; the staff had learned their lesson years and years ago.

The nurses had already placed a thick, fluffy bathrobe and a pair of slippers in the closet so Cor grabbed them, dropping the slippers on the floor and holding the robe out for Prompto to take. The blond wrapped himself in the robe, leaving the belt untied, and toed the slippers on while Cor marched over to the balcony door. One of the perks of his position was a master key that opened every single door in the Citadel; no need to bother the nurses for their time.

The balcony wasn't particularly large, not on the royal scale of measurements, but it nevertheless housed a small seating area and a large amount of potted plants growing along the walls. Cor waited until Prompto had entered the balcony before closing the door behind them, and when he turned around, he saw the blond had already made his way to the rain-streaked glass panels that covered one entire wall. Like every window in the building, these too were made of shatter-proof glass, designed to keep the royal family safe; here the same glass served a second purpose.

It was difficult to see through the glass when the rain kept on pounding against it, but Prompto didn't seem bothered by it. Cor squinted his eyes and walked up to the window at leisure. Far past the gardens, countless cars dotted the roads and driveways of the Crown City, though the heavy rain had driven most of the people indoors. A building crew was in the process of demolishing a building on what was probably the most expensive commercial street in Insomnia; Cor couldn't quite remember what kinds of stores it had housed before. There was a bank on the other side of the road, right next to the goldsmith who had crafted Clarus and Rosa's wedding rings; he'd been asked to pick them up when a string of unexpected council meetings had been about to ruin Clarus' carefully crafted proposal.

The sounds of the rainfall weren't enough to cover Prompto's sniffles. Cor glanced at the blond, saw him trembling against the glass panels, quiet tears spilling from red-rimmed eyes. Cor sighed and pulled him into an embrace. Far past the Wall, thunder roared and lit the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the great welcome!! I did some math and figured I could actually update bi-weekly (Mondays and Fridays), I have enough chapters written that I won't run out anytime soon. Please enjoy.


	3. Ignis I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis returns home, but home is no longer what it was.

Ignis had no idea where he was – scratch that. He was inside the Citadel, about to leave the medical wing; the place was familiar enough that he could still guess an approximate location. The space was quiet, however, designed to echo as little as possible, and though Ignis knew that there were various signs placed in strategic places to assist the blind, the reality of his new life cast a shadow of doubt in his mind. Earlier, he'd felt sandpaper-like texture beneath his feet; he'd known it was there for people like him, but he'd had no idea of what it was supposed to mean. Someone would come and teach him, however, and he would learn.

He'd learn, he kept on telling himself as he allowed his uncle to lead him wherever they were headed. He'd learn to navigate himself; he'd learn to dress himself; he'd learn to prepare meals for himself; he'd learn it all, and once he was done, he'd return to Noctis' side as the prince's advisor. But, until then – until the end of the long, long journey ahead of him – until then, he'd have no choice but to step aside from his duties, his life, and leave them for someone else. (Ignis knew who that someone else was; he told himself not to worry, but worried nevertheless, because in this dark world, that was all he was currently capable of: worrying.)

A little tune signaled the arrival of an elevator somewhere ahead of them and Ignis tilted his head, trying to pinpoint their exact location in the lobby. Then, a series of heavy footsteps followed – military, the sound of red-soled leather boots beating against the floor, and Ignis was beyond relieved to realize he still remembered that particular sound – and Centis stopped, dragging Ignis to a jarred halt beside him.

”Marshal,” Centis greeted, loosening his hold on Ignis' arm.

”Afternoon.” Cor's voice was just a few steps away, at a suitable distance for a conversation. ”You've been to your doctor, then, Ignis?”

”Yes, sir.” Belatedly, Ignis realized Cor had entered the room from one of the elevators, which, considering the larger situation at hand, could only mean one thing. ”Were you visiting Prompto?”

”I was,” Cor replied. ”Are you in a hurry, or do you have time for a brief conversation?”

Ignis felt his uncle release his arm and step away; he had to supress the feeling of floating in emptiness. Two months had passed, yet the feeling of not being tethered to anything but the ground beneath his feet still bothered him.

”I'll wait up ahead,” Centis said, walking away. Ignis reached for Cor, who offered his arm and led the two of them somewhere – searching for a bit of privacy, no doubt, only confusing Ignis' sense of direction further.

”How are you?” Cor asked, coming to a halt. ”Did the doctor say anything?”

”She had nothing to say I haven't already seen myself,” Ignis replied, smirking when he heard a chortled snort. ”I am blind, and forever will be, it seems. His Highness will simply have to survive without me while I learn to adjust.”

”Is Aurigena going to take over for you?” Cor asked. Ignis nodded.

”I haven't asked her yet, but that is the contingency plan,” he replied. She'd already been taking care of his paperwork and other, non-Noctis related duties while he was away; she wouldn't mind doing the rest as well. ”But enough about me – how is dear Prompto? I imagine he's on the previous floor, is that correct?”

He couldn't imagine Prompto not requiring in-patient care for at least a short while, and the heavy sigh falling from Cor's lips confirmed his thoughts at least partially.

”He's... better off than I expected, but also worse,” Cor answered after a moment, in the deliberate way Ignis had come to learn meant the other was trying to condense large amounts of information into a small handful of words. ”His Highness told us that Izunia was able to use magic to change his face – were you aware of this?”

Ignis nodded. ”I obviously cannot confirm such things myself, but Prompto let us know as much and I have no reasons to disbelieve him on this matter. His reactions to the three of us certainly prove his claims – I must admit, I am glad for not being able to see his fear. Gladio and Noctis were quite shaken over him.”

”Yes...” Cor said, trailing off. ”Izunia didn't simply beat him. His favorite game was forcing Prompto to fight back.”

Understanding hit Ignis like a bolt of lightning soaring through the sky. ”Ah,” he said, blindsided (hah!) by the revelation. ”Oh dear. That – that certainly explains some things. He asked – begged, truly – to be cut off the crystal as soon as we found him. We chalked that up to some trauma, perhaps Ardyn's use of similar magic, but to think–”

He stopped there, an intense feeling of fondness swelling in his heart. Leave it to Prompto to always worry about others, never himself. Ignis could still remember his smile, bright as sunshine on a perfect summer day; that was one of the things he wished he'd never forget, right along the gentle gaze of his prince.

”That silly, brave little boy,” Ignis whispered before sobering up. ”Is he – I assumed he was afraid of us hurting him, but it–”

”It's a bit of both,” Cor cut in firmly. ”I think he might be a bit confused over what is real and what is not – on one hand, he says he's unable to tell whether the three of you are the real thing or Ardyn in disguise, but on the other, he worries that he might try to hurt you if he gets too confused. He himself is aware of the problem, though, and thank the Six for that.”

Thank the Six, Ignis thought – thank the Six, their prophecies and merciless hands. He was bitter all of sudden, despite having known of the prophecy for a few years now, bitter and angry at the gods who played humans like pieces on a chessboard. He felt tired, too, the stress of the journey finally catching up to him. Cor must have noticed something since he took Ignis by the arm and began leading him somewhere – towards his uncle, most likely – while telling him to take a moment just to relax. A moment later, Ignis felt Cor's hand leave his arm while another hand latched onto his other elbow, Centis recognizable only by the jingle of the gilded decorations hanging from his formal coat. He hadn't had the time to change out of it, Ignis realized suddenly; hours must have passed since their arrival, and everything was so hurried it almost hurt to remember the leisure days spent driving around in the Regalia. He was back home, right were he belonged, yet it was a whole another world for him.

* * *

Ignis loved his uncle with all of his heart, he truly did, but for all his skills and talents, Centis proved hopeless with dealing with Ignis' blindness. He wasn't cruel about it, quite the opposite, but his assistance was either too much or too little, and Ignis had chased him away soon after returning to his rooms. It was like the first days after he woke up in Altissia to find Gladio aggressively hovering around him, simultaneously afraid to leave him alone for one second and unable to bear his presence. Centis would learn, Ignis knew, but by the gods was he tired of being babied!

After Centis had left, Ignis, always the pragmatic, had tried to make sense of his rooms. He'd been away for months, but everything was just as he had left it – as far as he could tell, that was. He followed along the walls, one hand braced against wallpapers he could no longer remember – something golden, soft creams maybe – and the other holding his cane ahead of him. He'd get a proper walking stick soon; a horde of assistants and tutors would enter his life and teach him everything he'd ever need to know about his new disability. Until then, though, the wooden cane would have to serve, even if Ignis dreaded the sound it made every time he swung it against something.

He walked the perimeter of the living area, counting steps between doors and windows. He ignored the door to his office, heart aching over the memory of all his beloved books, all the paperwork filed neatly into cabinets, all the remnants of a life past. His kitchen was familiar, comforting in a way but dreadful in an another, though Ignis was glad to notice his fridge had already been filled with fresh produce. His bedroom was where it all fell apart.

At first, he was fine, following the walls just as before. He passed the bathroom, continued till the open living room door, and doubled back to the bath. The bathroom was much the same, but coming out, Ignis thought he'd cross the bedroom on his way to the living area. He walked until his knees met the frame of his bed, turned to face the door, took a step, then another, and stopped when he realized there was nothing to guide him further. He knew where he was, on the plush carpet of his own bedroom, but around him, the darkness went on for forever. Poking out with his cane he still couldn't find anything, no chair, no bed, certainly no wall or door. 

Lost on his own bedroom. Ignis swallowed, ignored the anxiety, and took a hesitant step forwards. It wasn't like he could get lost here, or disappear into the dark only he could see. Soon he'd be at the doorway, this ridiculous instance forgotten, except that the carpet seemed to continue forever in all the directions around him, wooden floorboards nowhere to be found–

The sound of a door opening somewhere. ”Ignis? Are you here?” a voice called out, one that Ignis recognized in a flash, and he cursed silently, still too confused to find his way out.

”In the bedroom, Gelea,” he said loudly, trying to look normal. Footsteps – heels against wood, then carpet, then wood again.

”Oh, there you are,” Gelea said. She sounded happy, cheerful. ”I've got food if you're hungry, and if you aren't, I'm taking you right back to medical.”

True enough, the scent of fragrant spices hung in the air, ginger and garlic and chilies. Ignis moved towards her, finally finding the floorboards and the doorway. As his heartbeat quieted down, he hoped that she hadn't noticed his afflictions, but at the same time, he knew his wish fruitless. After all, they had been trained the same.

Ignis followed her all the way to the dining table, listening to the sounds of her laying something out on it. ”What is it we're eating?” he asked, trying to make himself feel a bit less useless. Maybe he should get plates, or at least something to drink.

”Ramen,” Gelea replied. ”I know, I know – a guy comes home from a divine mission and only gets bloody noodles for his troubles. The formal dinner gala will be held next week, just so you know.”

Ignis was stuck between chuckling and sighing. He sat down, felt around for the container; he noticed the heat first and tilted his hand just so, finding hot cardboard. Gelea left for the kitchen and came back, placing something else on the table – drinking glasses from the sound of it.

”Please tell me it's from the good place,” Ignis pleaded, folding open the top of his container. ”I've been living on cup noodles for the past two months; if you're going to feed me more ramen, I refuse to settle for mediocre.”

Gelea laughed. ”It's your favorite, idiot. The owner was happy to hear you were returning and wants you to know there's an extra sprinkle of love in your noodles. Tea or water?”

”Tea, please.” Ignis heard the crack of a bottle cap being opened, then something being poured. A glass was placed closer to him and he reached for it, moving it where he'd find easier. ”As I'm sure you've already gathered, I'm currently unable to fullfill my duties as Noctis' advisor – I understand you'll be taking over for the time being?”

That had always been the plan, since Ignis was offered the position; he was the advisor, she the spare, though her studies had taken her only a few steps away from becoming a full-fledged councilwoman. He had to remind himself that she wasn't after his job, that she had other aspirations, but in his current state of continuous anxiety, things like logic were becoming a bit blurry around the edges. They would both be part of Noctis' council when he ascended the throne; him as the King's advisor, and her as one of the ministers. She'd already wheedled the current council into expanding healthcare for poor adults; she'd want to keep doing the same.

”That's still the plan, yes,” Gelea replied. ”Any idea when you'll be back? I imagine it won't be anytime soon, but working two jobs at once is going to take more than a little planning and I'd appreciate even an approximate timeline for the hell I'm about to step into.”

Ignis sighed and stabbed his chopsticks into his ramen, swirling them around in the fragnant broth while he thought of an answer. ”I truly cannot say,” he eventually amended, ”I have so much to learn before I can properly manage myself without assistance, and Noctis – we're talking about months, possibly a full year or even longer.”

He couldn't stop the distress from seeping into his words as he spoke, trying to imagine what his life would be like centered around himself rather than Noctis, far away from everything he'd known and cherished. Gelea was silent – he could hear her slurping at her noodles – and he had little else to say at the time being, so he, too, dug into his meal. After too many dishes prepared by Gladio and Noctis, the cheap take-out tasted heaven-made, rich and savory without being too salty.

”Astrals, I have no words to describe how superb this is,” he sighed, snagging a piece of the toppings with his chopsticks. It felt like meat, and when a small bite confirmed his thoughts to be true, his pride rose to preen deep in his chest. Gelea chuckled, but the way her laughter died off made Ignis weary.

”What is it?”

A sigh. ”Some of the councilors have been talking,” Gelea spoke in a carefully cautious tone. ”And by talking, I mean that the fuckface from financing actually congratulated me on my promotion. I told him this was all temporary, but...”

Ignis had seen this coming as soon as he woke up blind in that hospital room in Altissia, but to hear it put so frankly, so explicitly... He sipped at his tea and sighed, telling himself he had Noctis standing in his corner, and likely the King as well; some uppity councilman meant nothing in the face of the crown. ”I do hope you at least threatened to fuck his face a bit further,” he smirked over the rim of his glass, grinning when he heard Gelea cackle.

”His annual self-defense class has been transferred to next Monday,” she said, sounding so utterly delighted that Ignis couldn't help a chuckle. ”As it happens, the class falls over my weekly lesson – perhaps we can even train together!”

They laughed together, then, two voices booming in the darkness of Ignis' dining area. His heart clenched at the sudden realization of how close he'd come to losing this; during the journey, their lives had been on the line more often than not and death had become a distinct possibility, but everything else... During the worst nights, he hadn't spared a second thought to old friends waiting at home, nor clothes folded into closets, or the mountains of work growing on empty desks–

They'd all lost something, but Ignis was unsure if they had ever truly realized just how much they were betting.

”Hey, Ignis,” Gelea's voice cut into his thoughts all of a sudden, ”now that we're old enough to actually have opinions on the matter... Where do you want to go from here?”

He knew before she even finished the question. He knew as soon as he heard the phrase 'old enough' because there was only one thing it could be referring to, a childhood spent studying and learning and fighting for something they'd all been too young to understand at the time. He thought back to the exams, the tests, the dwindling letters from his parents, but also the first time he'd been introduced to Noctis, the smile he'd received then, the smile he'd never see again.

It had been draining, grueling work, getting the position and working it, but to be allowed to stand next to his prince – he'd do it all again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is most likely going to be the shortest chapter in the story, sorry about that. I like writing Ignis but this time there wasn't much else to say. Please enjoy.


	4. Prompto I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto tries his best to make sense of a world where nightmares bleed through waking hours. Sometimes he manages, sometimes he doesn't.

At half past eleven in the morning after their return to Insomnia, Prompto sat on a chair in a room full of people while an entire team of make-up artists tried to paint some life and color onto his face. His Crownsguard uniform had been taken in and the tailor who brought it to his hospital room had helped him into it before frowning and stuffing a few strategically placed pieces of padding underneath the black fabric. A good night's rest had done miracles to Prompto's energy levels, but apparently not all problems could be fixed by sleeping. Noctis would disagree, he thought, then frowned and pushed the thought away.

A blonde woman in a pencil skirt and low heels had marched into the room, introduced herself as Ignis' temporary replacement, and then backed off to a corner where she now stood typing furiously on her phone. Cor waited nearby, as did a few other Crownsguards, but most of the people were completely unfamiliar to Prompto. He thought he recognized one of the women – a bossy, middle-aged lady with a clipboard and a panicked expression – from TV and guessed she was part of the PR team or something, but all in all, it was a right mess in the room, and no-one important had even arrived yet.

”Aand I think we're done here,” one of the make-up artists announced suddenly and Prompto could only blink as the small army drew away from him. ”Are you satisfied, sir?”

He glanced at a mirror and nodded, not really caring; if they thought him suitable to stand next to Noctis on live TV, then he probably was. ”Yeah, thanks, you guys,” he said, trying to grin. His face felt like it had been dipped in plastic. ”It looks great!”

'Great' was probably the wrong word to use when his entire face was a shadow of skin and bone, but an hour of painting had at least made him look like he might actually survive to the next day, which he decided was success enough.

Twenty-five minutes till go-time. Prompto looked up just as one of the doors opened and Noct walked into the room, followed by Gladio, both of them wearing black and gold and only slightly less paint than he was. His stomach clenched painfully at the sight of the two, momentary panic washing over him, but there were too many people in the room and Prompto did know how to behave, so he grinned (successfully, this time), and waved at his friends.

He could do this. One speech. He'd stand still and quiet and pretend to be only slightly dead, and Noctis would say whatever it was he was set to say, and then it'd all be over.

Ignis entered the room at quarter to twelve, the King and Clarus next to him. Prompto sipped at a glass of orange juice and waited. Ten minutes later the staff began to usher everyone into a queue – like children in kindergarten, Prompto thought – and a moment later, they walked into the media room.

Bright flashes of camera lights greeted them as soon as the door was open. Prompto, like he'd been advised, waited until Noct had taken his place behind the microphone stand before stepping up to his friend. He stood to the left of Noctis, Ignis to the right, and Gladio was behind them all. Just as the hustle on the stage was beginning to calm down, though, he nudged Noctis' side with his elbow and smiled at his friend as bright as he was able before turning away. Prompto gazed over the audience, filled to the brim with journalists and cameramen and various other crew members, and tried to ignore the rest of the people on the stage with him.

* * *

The speech itself was probably not that long when compared to the usual lenght of royal post-war, post-end-of-world speeches, but Prompto had began to tire long before the floor was opened for questions. Thankfully Noct, in full prince mode, dealt with the journalists with a polite smile before bidding boodbye and leading them all back to the other room.

”Well, that sure was something,” Prompto murmured as soon as he heard the door click shut. Next to him, Noctis snorted.

”You do realize we're gonna spend the rest of our _lives_ talking about this?” he teased, bumping shoulders with Prompto, who rolled his eyes despite the nausea rising in his belly.

”I'll just let you do the talking, buddy,” he said. ”Ugh, I'm gonna go sit down, sorry dude.”

The flash of worry on Noct's face made him feel a bit better (which was probably not a very good thing) and Prompto stepped around people until he found a chair in a somewhat quiet corner. He sighed in relief as he slumped into the seat; his feet were killing him. One of the staff members gave him a look but soon hurried away, apparently realizing that Prompto was too sick to follow proper court etiquette. Or that he was best friends with the prince. Either way, he didn't think the King would be too upset with him resting for a bit.

Some of the staff had began to disperse, but a quick glance around the room showed him that Noctis, the King, and the others were already in discussions with the remaining people. Prompto leaned back in his chair and simply looked around, watching the people around him mill about. The speech had been a success as far as he could tell, and most of the faces in the room looked pleased, if still a little harried. The PR woman with the clipboard was talking to Ignis and Ignis' replacement – Gelea, was that her name? – and a little futher away, Gladio had turned away from Noctis to talk with yet another person Prompto didn't recognize, though the man was wearing the formal robes of a council member.

(He really, really should have accepted Ignis' Introduction into Politics lessons, but he'd been young and dumb and now he was paying for it. Since he apparently wasn't going to be executed for shooting at the freaking Crown Prince, he'd have to continue to stand by Noctis' side. Which wasn't really a 'have to' thing, except for that one little issue called Prompto's brain.)

Across the room, Gladio's expression had began to tighten in a way that meant he was either angry or upset – Prompto still couldn't tell one from the other. All of Gladio's negative emotions tended to end in a stony face seething with barely-hidden rage, though this time Prompto saw something different. Something cool, and casual, and terrifyingly uncaring. The councilman tried to say something but Gladio simply raised his palm to silence the man, dismissed him with a curt wave and turned back to Noctis, except that his gaze swept past Prompto and their eyes locked.

The room fell silent, the echo of a waterfall ringing in the air, and Prompto stood up and walked out of the room, past people who paid him no attention and others who watched him go with worry in their eyes. He swung the door open, stepped out, tried to remember how to breathe. The door closed, then opened again, and Cor joined him. The door fell shut once more and a strong hand closed around Prompto's shoulder.

”I've never seen Gladio like that,” he tried to say. He'd seen Ardyn like that, a lot, but never Gladio. He hoped Cor would understand without him saying it out loud.

”You've only ever seen him in fairly informal situations,” Cor spoke, leading Prompto down the hallway. ”To be more precise, you've never seen him in a position where he can't freely speak his mind – before other nobility, council members, people like that. Court etiquette allows one to be cold and dismissive, but rarely heated and emotional.”

Prompto choked out a laugh and pressed closer into Cor's side, hoping the other man wouldn't mind him clinging into him. The reasonable, logical part of his brain knew he was overreacting and possibly more than a little paranoid, but the other part, the one that still felt the hurt, had seen another man in Gladio's place and that had been enough to set him off.

Cor's arm tightened around his shoulder. ”Come on, kid, let's go see your new rooms.”

* * *

A few minutes into their journey, Prompto realized two things: first of all, they had passed exactly zero guards despite having walked a relatively long distance, which was an increasingly alarming thought considering they were inside the freaking Citadel, where the literal royal family lived. The second realization was that he was walking beside Cor Leonis, the Marshal of Crownsguard, who had to know the exact position of every single soldier during every second of the day. Prompto glanced up at Cor, who still had an arm thrown over his shoulders, and grinned at their feet.

It felt good to have someone looking over him. Someone his brain didn't fear.

Despite the winding path they took – a flight of stairs here, a surprise turn there – Prompto had a pretty good idea of the direction they were headed to, and it brought a frown to his face. ”Aren't the Royal Residential Suites this way?” he asked, nervous. Next to him, Cor nodded his head.

”Yes, but we will be staying several floors below them,” he spoke levelly, calm enough to settle the worst edge of Prompto's anxiety. ”You'll be housed in the Queen Estel Suite; the Rogue Queen originally had it built to hide a lover or two, but since her passing, it has mostly been used by various guests who, for whatever reason, have needed the privacy.”

Prompto giggled at the mention of 'a lover or two' and brushed his elbow against Cor's side in a friendly jest. The fingers on Prompto's shoulder tightened momentarily before steering him into yet another hallway, this one smaller than any before and completely unfamiliar to Prompto, who'd never had any reason to stray into these areas before.

”Gladiolus and Ignis both have their own personal suites in the same wing, though like Prince Noctis, they too live several floors above us,” Cor continued to speak. They took one more turn and reached a hallway with only one door at the end, framed by two statues that even Prompto could immediately recognize as depicting the Rogue Queen. ”There are no direct routes between here and there, and none of the boys will have any reason to come down there.”

Prompto nodded, feeling a little embarrassed and very heartbroken over the need to hide from his best friends – his _only_ friends – but said nothing as Cor let go of him and pulled open the heavy-looking wooden door. Though the last few hallways had been a little on the dim side, the room – a lounge of some kind – was filled with soft light streaming through large windows. Outside, the storm had stopped raging and the first rays of sunlight cast shadows on the windowpanes, still streaked with fresh raindrops. Prompto stepped into the room, feeling horribly out of place, and looked around as Cor followed a few paces behind him.

The suite was decorated in a similar style to Noctis' personal rooms, and Prompto probably should have expected as much as soon as he heard he'd be staying in private rooms somewhere in the building. The decoration was all dark wood, plush carpets and shades of blue against a soft, pale shade of gold; it all screamed rich and money and nobility, things Prompto had never been, never would be. He swallowed past the tightness in his throat and continued examining the rooms. Other than the door they had come through, there were three more, one on each wall; the door to the balcony was on the wall opposite of the entrance, placed slightly on the side so that some of the windows still showed a direct view of the city. To Prompto's right, a pair of open double doors revealed a massive bed in a slightly darker room, and to the left, he could see a small library or a study of some kind. He assumed the bathroom would be somewhere next to the bedroom, since there were no other places for it to be.

It was a lot. Almost dizzying, in some curious way; him, a random pleb standing in a suite built by the Rogue Queen during her reign, hiding from the current Crown Prince mere days after the end of the world was diverted. He would have laughed if he wasn't so overwhelmed.

Prompto stumbled over to a cushioned window seat and leaned against the glass panes, sighing heavily. Near the entrance, Cor looked up from his phone and walked over, taking a seat opposite of Prompto, who had to pull his legs up to his chest to make space for the other man.

”I've added another post behind your door,” Cor said as he put his phone away. ”Someone from Crownsguard will be standing behind it throughout the day. How are you feeling?”

Prompto cast his eyes down and sighed into his knees. There were so many ways to answer the question, so many worries and anxieties weighting down his heart, that he didn't know where to begin. ”I don't want to be afraid of them anymore,” he eventually whispered, twiddling with his bracelet. ”I just – I just want things to go back to how they were. Before.”

”That's not going to happen, and you know it,” Cor said firmly. Prompto flinched and squeezed his eyes shut. ”Too much has changed, not only in your personal lives, but also on the scale of the entire world. You're not the same people who left Insomnia, and you'll never be them again. However, through it all, your friendship has endured and survived, and I see no reason why it couldn't survive this as well. It will take a lot of hard work on your part to get past your trauma, possibly a lot of time as well, but I truly believe it to be possible.”

”Sure doesn't feel like it,” Prompto murmured into his knees, blinking away tears. They all had their issues after the past three or so months – and he could barely believe how little time had passed between it all – but he knew the other three would be fine together, that their friendships would only come out stronger as the dust settled. On his part, however... not being able to stand the very presence of his friends was more than a little troubling. In his mind, he could see the others banding together over their journey while he tried to survive alone, on his own.

”Your therapist will be able to help you with that.” Cor reached for Prompto's hand, but his fingers slipped a little too close to the bracelet and the blond winced, pulling away. ”Prompto?”

Worry colored Cor's voice; before their trip, Prompto would have been overjoyed to hear someone speak to him with such a tone, but now, all he could feel was the anxiety steadily rising in his chest. He hugged his arms against his stomach and looked away, out of the window, trying not to panic.

”Prompto? What's wrong?”

Everything was wrong, he wanted to cry out; he couldn't trust his friends, he couldn't trust his brain, he couldn't trust his own memories – he couldn't trust anything! Prompto sniffled as the first proper tears escaped against his will and reached to swipe them away with the sleeve of his uniform, despite knowing that the stiff fabric would only chafe against his skin instead of absorbing the liquid.

Cor's hand settled on his ankle and he felt the dams breaking as anxiety and exhaustion won the battle against deeply ingrained fear. ”I don't know what to believe!” Prompto sobbed. ”I don't know what's real anymore!”

Past his cries, he heard Cor take a deep breath, and he knew without looking what kind of an expression the other man was wearing. He knew he should keep silent, that this was the one thing he should never ever speak to anyone about, but he was also so tired and hurt and Cor had done nothing but comfort him the day before when he'd sobbed his way through the story of Gralea and beyond – he shouldn't be asking for more when he'd already been given so much, but he wanted, wanted to be held and comforted like the little broken baby he was, weak and helpless.

”The Astrals and their magic are all gone from this world, Prompto,” Cor spoke gently, pacifyingly, trying to reason with the logical part of Prompto's brain. It was futile, and Prompto figured that the other must have known this too, but there was little else to be said about his fears. ”That means that the Accursed must be gone too. I know–”

”I killed him!” Prompto wailed, drowning the rest of Cor's words under desperate sobs. ”I must have shot him dead over a hundred times and he still rose! I broke his neck and ripped out his heart and threw fucking grenades at him, and he still didn't die!”

He heard Cor trying to soothe him with soft words, but he wasn't done yet. ”And, and,” he wept, voice quieting down as despair clutched at his hear, ”and what if – what if – what if _I'm_ the one who isn't real anymore?”

A stunned silence greeted him and his quiet tears. Prompto wiped at his eyes, already raw and aching, and chanced a glance at Cor, who was regarding him with a gentle, if unreadable expression. ”What do you mean by that?” the older man spoke softly, leaning closer and reaching for Prompto's hand. This time there was no resistance.

Struggling with words, Prompto's mind was filled with memories of MT soldiers with pale skin and golden hair under their helmets, of emotionless violet-blue eyes staring blankly at him, of Besithia and tanks filled with clear liquid and so many tubes and wires and needles all over the place – he gasped, unable to breathe properly, and squeezed Cor's hand like a dying man reaching for his only salvation. ”I'm an MT,” he finally cried, fumbling to remove his bracelet before shoving his arm towards Cor. ”I'm an MT and all the other clones looked just like me, so maybe I'm one of them like he said, maybe I'm not me at all, or maybe he took my memories away or put something in my brain that didn't happen but I think did, or–”

”Prompto.” Cor's voice was gentle, if firm, as he grasped both of Prompto's arms and held them securely. ”I'm aware of your past. We can talk about that more in a moment, but before that, I need you to calm down and breathe properly. Can you do that for me?”

The words were far from what Prompto had expected to hear, and so he was stunned into momentarily silence, unable to do much but stare at Cor with wide eyes and a gaping mouth as snot and tears ran down his face. At the other's insistence, he tried to control his breathing, struggling at first, but soon finding himself calming down a fraction. ”What do you – what do you mean you're aware?” he asked after a moment, voice rising in pitch.

”I mean exactly that,” Cor answered, holding Prompto's marked hand between both of his own, larger palms. ”I was aware of you the day you were brought into this city, we even met very briefly that day, though I must admit I didn't make the connection between you and that baby until I had your file in my hands.”

Cor's words made very little sense to Prompto, who was still staring at the other incredulously. Seeing his confusion, the other soon continued: ”You were brought into Insomnia by a Gralean scientist who had escaped from Nifflheim and sought sanctuary inside our walls. He brought along with him two babies and a little girl, all three of whom were given for adoption after a thorough exam to make sure there was nothing wrong with them, other than the neglect they had all faced in Gralea. So yes, I know how you came into Insomnia, as I know exactly what that barcode signifies; and now it appears that you know it as well.”

After Cor's speech, Prompto was still too dumbfounded to do much else other than shake his head slowly. His tears were gone, as was the worst distress, and all that was left was a sense of confused relief. ”I met Verstael Besithia,” he said after a moment of befuddled thinking, staring straight into Cor's eyes. ”I'm his clone. He's my father. I killed him.”

The expression that took Cor's was one that Prompto had never seen before, full of unabashed surprise. The man blinked, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, speechless. ”Well,” he said after a moment, clearly struggling for words. ”Well. That's certainly a revelation. Besithia's dead, then? I'm afraid that part of news has not yet reached our ears, though I doubt there's a single person in the War Council and the labs who will not cheer over these news. Well done, Argentum. That's two of Nifflheim's most hated men dead at your hand – not forgetting the Accursed, whom you also fought bravely. Impressive.”

Cor spoke the last words like the Marshal of the Crownsguard rather than a mentor comforting his upset student, and Prompto found himself biting back a hysteric giggle. The entire conversation had been strange, continuously twisting into directions he hadn't expected to hear. ”But I'm an MT,” he blurted out again, ”isn't that... kind of a bad thing? Since MTs are the enemy. You know.”

Cor shook his head with a small smile on his lips. ”You were _meant_ to be an MT,” he said. ”The scientist in question got you out before they could begin the process of turning you into one. You may be a clone – this, too, we already knew – but that alone doesn't mean you aren't a human being just like I am. Besides, if we'd had any problems with your background, we wouldn't have allowed you to stay inside the city when you were first brought here.”

Prompto stared at Cor, then looked down at his wrist, where the barcode stood against stark white skin surrounded by little scars that could not have gone unnoticed. He swallowed, thinking back to the desperate times when he'd tried to get rid of the mark in hopes of living a better of life, in hopes of making his parents like him once more... It had all been futile, and he should have realized it back then, but sometimes desperation simply knew no bounds.

”A gil for the rest of your thoughts?” Cor asked and Prompto glanced up at him. Despite the unexpectedly warm welcome of his darkest secret, something else had been left nagging at the back of his head – the same thought that had started this particular round of tears.

”So maybe you're all okay with me being born as a clone meant for the Imperial army,” he began, voice quiet but surprisingly steady, ”but that doesn't still mean I'm me – wait, let me finish. At – at the Keep, I saw at least a dozen MTs that looked just like me, yeah? And they could have, they could have just switched us around. Maybe I'm some other MT in my own body, or maybe I'm me in some other body, or maybe I'm not me at all. You can't prove anything at all.”

Distress was beginning to seep into his voice and he looked at Cor through wet eyelashes to see the other man regarding him with a thoughtful look. ”Okay,” he said after a moment. ”I see where you're coming from, and I have an idea. Those barcodes work as personal identification numbers, don't they? In your file, we have a picture of your arm from when you were brought here, as well as the full number written down. I can show you the file so we can confirm you're in the right body, and after that, the therapist will be able to help you to see if your mind is right as well. How does that sound?”

It sounded like he was insane, which he probably was. The hurt part of him, however, was desperate for whatever crumbs of security could be given to him, and Prompto found himself nodding so fast his head spun. ”Please,” he said in a pleading tone, unable to look at Cor. He was embarrassed to the point of feeling humiliated, and no matter how kind the other man was, he couldn't help feeling like he was just too wrong in the head to deserve any help.

”Alright,” Cor said, nodding. Prompto watched him pull out his phone once more and tap out a quick text. ”Aurigena will be bringing the file in – oh, twenty minutes, she says. That's enough time for you to clean up a bit, if you want to.”

Prompto blinked in confusion and Cor raised an eyebrow at him, a small smirk on his lips. ”The staff should've left some form of a make-up remover in the bathroom.”

A terrible squeak escaped Prompto's mouth and he jumped, suddenly remembering the layers upon layers of paint caked on his face. Looking down at his sleeves, he could see smears of beige make-up all over the black fabric, and utterly horrified, he scrambled up and all but run towards the bedroom and the promise of running water. He could hear Cor snort out a laugh.

The bathroom was large, but not as large as it could have been, and Prompto locked the door with a relieved sigh. He saw personal items placed all over the place – a toothbrush next to the sink, soap bottles in the shower – and a sudden sense of belonging took him by surprise. Smiling a little, he moved to stand in front of the mirror. Ignoring his horrible face, he instead pulled out a drawer after drawer, finding all sorts of items from Q-tips to a shaving kit and an entire collection of hair-styling products before finally picking up a bottle of makeup-remover and some cotton pads. He stripped off his Crownsguard jacket, folding it carefully next to the sink, and after a second of thinking pulled out the padding from the rest of his clothing, laying the pieces atop the jacket. Staring at the massive mirror before him, Prompto grimaced and began the hard, gruelling job of wiping royal-strenght make-up from his skin.

When he finally left the bathroom, feeling fresh-faced and somewhat refreshed, he found Cor sitting where he'd left him, gazing out of the windows. The older man nodded at Prompto when he returned to his previous seat but didn't say anything, instead letting silence fall over. Prompto curled up into a ball in the comfortable nest of pillows, and simply waited. There was no need to say anything.

It didn't take long before a knock echoed through the suite, and despite having been waiting for it, Prompto found himself startling. ”Aurigena,” a voice called through the door and Prompto stared at the entrance, waiting for her to come in. He didn't realize he was supposed to call her in until Cor cleared his throat and nudged him with his knee.

”Uh, come in?” Prompto called hesitantly, glancing at Cor to see if he'd done it right. He wasn't used to this kind of a thing and felt embarrassed, but thankfully the door opened and Gelea walked in, holding an entire stack of items in her arms.

”Marshal, Mr. Argentum,” she greeted them after closing the door. ”Here's the file you requested, sir.”

Cor accepted the file with a nod of his head, and Prompto found himself shrinking when Gelea turned to face him, a polite smile fixed on her face. ”Here's a new phone for you, Mr. Argentum,” she said, holding out her hand until Prompto took the offered phone from her. ”I've taken the liberty of programming in my own number, as well as any others I thought necessary.”

”Oh, um, thank you.” Prompto turned the phone in his hands, realizing it was the same model that Noctis and the others had been using for some time now. His own phone had been lost somewhere between Altissia and Gralea, but because of everything that had happened since that ocean-soaked day in Altissia, he hadn't even had the chance to remember his missing phone.

”You're welcome,” Gelea said, holding out a thin stack of papers. ”The first page has a rough schedule for you – medical insists you eat several meals during the day, and someone from the kitchens will be bringing your meals for you as stated in the schedule. I've marked down all the doctor's appointments that have been booked for you, and we'll arrange for someone to come escort you to the medical wing and back at least until you learn to make your way on your own.”

”The Crownsguard posted at the door will take care of that, if that's all right with you, Prompto,” Cor offered. Dizzy with the onslaught of information, all Prompto could do was nod his head as he stared at the schedule in his hands.

”Clean-up will arrive while you're elsewhere, as I understand you're not used to living like this.” Gelea's eyes twinkled a little when he spoke, but Prompto was beginning to feel too overwhelmed to care. ”Do you have any questions about the schedule?”

Prompto shook his head, still staring at the papers clutched in sweaty palms. Every word she had spoken had made it clearer and clearer just how much was being done to take care of him, to keep him calm and sedate and still. His hands shook, but Gelea didn't seem to notice – or if she did, and Prompto suspected she did because he'd already learned she was too much like Ignis at times, then she didn't feel the need to comment on it.

”The rest of the papers contain a rough outline of the most important news you might have missed due to the journey,” she continued. Prompto nodded, thankful – too much had changed and happened, and when they'd arrived in Hammerhead, he'd felt like he'd entered a whole another realm. ”Read them at your own pace if you so wish to. Unless you have any questions I can help with, I need to get going or I'll miss a council meeting – but either way, please make use of my phone number if you require any assistance. Marshal.”

That said, Gelea spun around on her heels and marched out of the rooms. Before the door closed, Prompto was able to catch a glimpse of a man in black uniform standing in the hallway. It happened too fast for him to see the man's face and recognize him, but the sudden realization that he was being guarded – for his sake, or for someone else's, it was all the same to him – left him trembling. Cor rested a hand on his shoulder and now that his jacket was gone, he could feel warmth seep through his t-shirt and into the aching bones underneath.

”Are you okay?” Cor asked gently.

”Yeah,” Prompto murmured. ”Just getting a bit tired, I guess.”

Cor smiled. ”That's fine. Would you like to see your file now?”

Prompto startled; after the sudden info dump, he'd forgotten about the file and the numbers and the barcode on his wrist. He nodded, undoing his bracelet once more, and waited while Cor browsed through papers in search of one particular page. After a moment, the man pulled out a picture and Prompto would spend the rest of life swearing his heart stopped at the sight of it.

The picture was cropped so that the only thing in it was a small arm, from shoulder to the tips of five tiny fingers, gently held down by a hand covered in a white glove. Prompto had never seen pictures of himself taken by someone else; his parents hadn't taken a single picture of him growing up, so there were no photos of him as a baby, as a toddler, as a little kid. His finger traced the arm on the picture, and despite knowing next to nothing about babies, it was clear to him that he'd been visibly underweight when he was brought to Insomnia.

”What happened to the scientist?” Prompto asked. The barcode on the baby's thin wrist was small, barely the widht of two adult fingers; he'd seen it grow and expand in size along with his body, but seeing the mark on a little baby... He was stunned.

”He passed away a few years ago,” Cor spoke. ”Cancer. I'd say he had a relatively good life here – part of our deal with him was that he keep on working for the Crown, which he did. He was very happy to hear that all three of the children he saved were adopted by Insomnians.”

Prompto nodded, still staring at the little barcode. Its small size made it difficult for him to read the numbers properly, but he made do, tracing their outline with his gaze. NH-01987. 006-0204. It was his number. His identity. His name, in some another reality. Prompto blinked, feeling his throat threaten to close up once again. He was the baby in the picture, the little wisp of a thing held on a cold table by hands trying to help him. He wondered if he'd accepted them, back then, or if he'd already learned to fear and resist.

Slowly, without taking his eyes off the picture, Prompto raised his right wrist up. Heart thudding against his ribs, he read the barcode number by number. NH-01987, facing away from him. 006-0204 towards him. Two little diamonds on both sides of the barcode, it was the same it had always been. His barcode, the baby's barcode, linking him back in history and fact and reality. Prompto began crying, and didn't resist when Cor plucked the picture from his hands and calmly led him to the bedroom, where he was vaguely aware of someone pulling off his shoes and tucking him into the luxurious bed.

”I'll set the alarm on your phone so you'll be awake when your next meal is brought in,” Cor murmured, his voice fading as sleep claimed Prompto. ”Call me if you need anything.”


	5. Noctis I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis worries that his friendships were the price for world piece. One friend is afraid of him, the second one doesn't want to spend time with him, and the third one can't see him even if he had the time for it. It's a lonely world once again, but Noctis' friends fought for him and he's not going to leave them on their own either.

A week since his heroic return to Insomnia, Noctis lay in bed awake and unable to sleep. The sun wasn't up yet and when he'd finally resigned to his fate and pulled out his phone, the clock had read 4:17 in the morning. Now, an hour later, he was still in bed scrolling through messages, news articles, and various pieces of council reports that Gelea had tagged with TBR.

(He liked her, he really did, but she wasn't Ignis. When he'd asked for more work, she'd taken ten minutes before sending him a list of issues she thought he ought to read more about. Ignis, when he'd heard about the exchange, had marched his way into Noctis's suite with his new assistant trailing next to him, and had demanded to know what was wrong with him. Noctis had laughed, both in relief over the familiar scene and at the poor assistant left covering in the doorway, clearly way out of his element.)

He'd seen every sunrise since Ardyn's death, and it pissed him off like nothing else. Noctis didn't know if his new-found insomnia was due to the crystal's magic dying and leaving him energized and healthy, or if their journey had left him with deeper scars than he'd previously assumed. Or maybe, he thought, sighing deeply; or maybe he just wasn't used to sleeping alone anymore. Ignis and Gladio were both off doing their own things; the sudden loss of Ignis had hit Noctis hard, but he understood, or at least he tried to, because despite the empty rooms and empty days, he knew that this, at least, was fixable. The Shield, on the other hand, had taken to spending every free second in the training yards, and Noctis knew him well enough to say the other man was going all he could to avoid the others. It hurt, but once again Noctis understood; this was Gladio trying to cope.

Before Altissia, he'd slept curled against Prompto, and they'd done their best to mould their bodies together while they slept. His heart ached when he thought back to the nights spent camping in a tent too small for four grown men; even before leaving for their journey, him and Prompto had spend more than one evening cuddled together. Now, Noctis doubted it would ever happen again. They'd never again share a bed between them. He'd never snooze against Prompto's shoulder, or on Prompto's lap, while the blond held him close. Even if Prompto learned to deal with his trauma, their friendship had already changed and morphed past the point of return.

Their first full day back at home, after the speech and Prompto's subsequent escape, they had shared a couple texts. Prompto had started it, to Noctis' surprise, with an emoji face half-hidden behind a wall; Noctis had scoured through his own emojis and stickers in search of something suitable, and had eventually chosen a chocobo sticker drawn in a cartoon style, the bird standing up with its wings thrown up in joy. Prompto had responded with another emoji, this one happy and cheering, and a tentative discussion had bloomed into something resembling the chats they used to have before everything changed. Noctis had been happy.

The next day, he'd sat in a room with his father and Cor while they were briefed on Prompto's health evaluations, and hell had broken loose.

It still hurt to think back to the meeting. Prompto's psych evaluation had been broken into two parts due to his exhaustion and the general lack of time, and the day of their return, Noctis had been informed that while his best friend was obviously suffering from PTSD, there was little to suggest he would be a danger to himself or others, despite his own beliefs. He'd sighed in relief over hearing the words, and a short conversation with Cor on the day of the speech had only worried him a little. Then, on the third day since their arrival, Prompto had sat through a full meeting with a psychologist, and it had turned out he was paranoid to the point of delusions and apparently believed himself to be someone else, not just Noctis, Iggy, or Gladio.

That hadn't been fun to hear.

”He is aware of his own problems,” the psychologist had told them, ”and I cannot stress how important this is. While it seems Mr. Argentum's experiences have caused him to doubt what is and isn't real, he only does so in certain, very specific situations, and most importantly, he knows when he's doing it. It will take time before he heals and overcomes his trauma, but I am optimistic regarding his future.”

Despite the psychologist's hopeful words, it had been one of the worst meetings Noctis had ever been to, if not _the_ worst one.

At 5:47, the sun was beginning to creep into the sky and Noctis rolled out of bed, padding to lean against the windows as he watched the sky light up in shades of red, orange, and pink. He was worried about Prompto, but knew there was very little he could do to help him when the blond wasn't yet ready to face him outside of texts and videogames. Iggy he didn't worry about, knowing the other would be okay as long as he showed his continued support; while his advisor had picked up some anxious tendencies somewhere along the way, his wounds were largely physical, and even though Ignis' blindness had likely changed his entire world, Noctis still had full faith him in.

It was Gladio who worried him the most. Gladio, who had began to doubt his skills mere days into the journey to Altissia. Gladio, who had fought Gilgamesh out of fear of not being good enough. Gladio, who had spent seven days digging through rubble and dead bodies in search of someone he didn't find. Gladio, who had looked so dejected and downright broken after accidentally spooking Prompto out of the room the last time they'd all been together.

Every morning since, he had been up at 3:30 in the morning. Noctis had watched his icon pop green in the messenger app they all used, and when he opened the GPS tracker, he'd seen Gladio leave the Amicitia manor for a long, fast-paced run. He'd stop either at his home or at the mess hall in the Citadel, presumably for breakfast, then leave again to spend the rest of the day in the various training halls scattered near the barracks. It wasn't healthy, Noctis knew as much, but his first and so-far last attempt at asking if the other was okay had ended with Gladio ignoring him when he could. He'd show up to meetings and official functions to fulfill his duty, but that was it.

At 6:07, Gladio's GPS tracker put him in the gym. Noctis saw Clarus' icon turn green in the messenger, and after a deep breath, began texting. Outside, the sun was reaching for its crest on the sky and groups of people had taken to the streets.

**Noctis (6:09 a.m.):** can u talk to gladio  
**Clarus (6:11 a.m.)** : Has something happened?  
**Noctis (6:11 a.m.):** uh  
**Noctis (6:11 a.m.):** yeah  
**Noctis (6:11 a.m.):** this thing called altissia  
**Noctis (6:12 a.m.):** and then gralea  
**Clarus (6:12 a.m.):** Highness, please. Why are you up this early?  
**Noctis (6:13 a.m.):** can't sleep cuz my dumb friend is going for Death via Training  
**Noctis (6:14 a.m.):** to be serious tho i'm really worried for him  
**Clarus (6:15 a.m.):** I am listening, son.  
**Noctis (6:18 a.m.):** okay so gladio's got like these massive insecurities these days, like he doesn't think himself worthy or good enough AT ALL, and i mean that he's worse than prompto is because prompto at least listens when i tell him he's okay, which gladio absolutely refuses to do  
**Noctis (6:21 a.m.):** gladio actually left us to fight gilgamesh because he felt that bad, and came back but then altissia happened and he spent a week on his own searching for prom's body while i was unconscious and iggy was blinded  
**Noctis (6:25 a.m.):** and gladio somehow thinks this is ALL his fault because he's not good/strong/fast/etc enough to protect us, and i can't talk to him about it because it stems from the shield thing probably  
**Noctis (6:28 a.m.):** so this is where u come in!!  
**Noctis (6:29 a.m.):** don't tell me u haven't noticed  
**Clarus (6:32 a.m.):** I had noticed there was something off with him, but I have to admit I had no idea it was this bad. I will talk to him. Thank you for telling me.  
**Noctis (6:33 a.m.):** no prob

Noctis smiled at himself and let the screen fade black. He knew Gladio wouldn't be happy with him speaking to Clarus behind his back, but at the same time, he felt like he'd done the right thing. Gladio needed help, whether he wanted it or not, and Noctis knew the only person who could truly understand him was his father, who had likely gone through the same thing at some point or another. Noctis stretched his arms high above his head as the morning sun grazed his skin and groaned in satisfaction, deciding it was time for him to shower before getting ready for the day's work. He'd had most of his appointments moved to the morning hours whenever possible, and the tailors were expecting him at half past seven for one last fitting before the next day's formal gala. One hour to shower and eat breakfast.

In the bathroom, Noctis set his phone down on the counter only to hear it beep again. He glanced at it, seeing a new message blinking at him. He opened it up and smiled.

**Clarus (6:38 a.m.):** You're a good friend, Noctis.

* * *

On the evening of August 9th, Noctis stood in a small lounge with his father, waiting for the hastily-chosen guests to arrive. It had been less than two weeks since their return to Insomnia, hardly enough time to send out the invitations and order the essentials, but the staff had managed – not that anyone would dare complain over the tight schedule, not when everyone knew _why_ the gala was held in the first place. A larger, more ceremonial party would be held later on, either at the end of the year or on the anniversary of the New Dawn; after observing his father in the peace talks with Niflheim and other countries, Noctis was hopeful that all of Eos would eventually celebrate united.

He could hear faint music from the grand ballroom, where the first guests were already waiting, mingling, partying it up in honor of a world void of darkness and the men who fought for it, a prince and his retinue. The thought of his retinue, his _friends_ , brought Noctis' lips into a humorless quirk. Gladio was in the room with him, along with Clarus; Cor would be staying with Prompto for the duration of the party, while Ignis mingled as he best saw fit. They would present an united front, but Noctis knew they were anything but.

”I do believe it's about time,” Regis said suddenly, cutting into Noctis' thoughts. ”Shall we, gentlemen?”

The four men all moved towards the door, Gladio holding it open for the rest. He was smiling, but it was the polite, court-appropriate wisp of a thing trained into him at a very young age, far from the boisterous grin Noctis was used to. As soon as he saw Gladio that day, he'd known that Clarus hadn't yet had the chance to corner him into a conversation. They stepped into the hallway and though Gladio fell into step a few paces behind him, Noctis knew that the other man was looking around wildly, trying to find trouble where there likely was none. Sighing, he fixed the collar of his suit before stepping into the ballroom.

A hundred heads turned to face him, and Noctis put on his best smile as his father did the same. While the cause of the gala was something to be writ in the books of history, the scene itself was beyond familiar to Noctis, who glanced around the room, seeing one familiar face after another. Lucian nobility, the entire King's Council, the occasional celebrity – most guests were involved in politics in one way or another, either through their vocations or work done for charities and other causes. Noctis nodded at Captain Drautos, who looked grim and gaunt these days, and walked into the sea of people, Gladio following dutifully behind.

He greeted people, laughed with them, received thanks with a tired grace, and moved on. About thirty minutes into the gala, he finally crossed paths with Prompto, who greeted him and Gladio with a bright grin that would have fooled even Noctis into thinking everything was okay unless he hadn't already known better. They stood side-by-side, arms stretched around each other's shoulders just like when they were teens, and allowed themselves to be engaged in a conversation over the still-hot news of Tenebrae regaining its independence from Imperial rule, which lead to the matter of Noctis and Luna's supposed marriage. It wasn't the first time during the gala that Noctis had been asked about her, and it probably wouldn't be the last time either, but nevertheless he still wished that people would find something else to talk about.

”Lady Lunafreya and I are good friends,” Noctis said, smiling, and tightened his hold of Prompto, ”but we both feel that any conversations over a marriage between Lucis and Tenebrae should be left till a later date. Now that we have the chance to, we both wish to focus on the rebuilding of our own countries first.”

The listeners were obviously far from satisfied, but at least a few of them seemed to understand that Noctis couldn't openly complain about being forced into a marriage by Niflheim's dead Emperor, and so nothing else was said about the matter. After a while, Noctis bid his goodbyes and continued his way through the guests, Prompto and Cor heading into the opposite direction, the blond showing no sings of anxiety or fear; somewhere far past his grief, Noctis felt pride.

He spotted Ignis not minutes later, talking with one of the councilmen and a woman Noctis assumed was the man's wife. Something cold and heavy settled in Noctis' stomach over the look on Ignis' face, the tight lips and the tense shoulders, but they appeared to finish the conversation before he could intervene. Ignis walked away, his uncle by his side, and left the two others by themselves. Next to Noctis, Gladio was tense and cursing under his breath.

It wasn't difficult to guess what they had been talking about. Noctis grimaced, quickly schooling his features back into a polite smile, and gazed across the people in search of Ignis. Unable to find the other, he eventually sighed and turned back to the people around him, snagging a flute of champagne from a server passing by. It didn't escape his notice that Gladio, who usually enjoyed drinking, ignored the tray of drinking as if it were empty air before him.

The knowledge that all his friends were struggling in the aftermath of their journey hurt, especially as he himself had survived the whole ordeal in a better form than he'd been before it.

”You should have a drink,” Noctis told Gladio, sipping at his own drink. ”The champagne's good, you'd like it.”

Gladio grit his teeth together. ”I'm working.”

”Didn't use to stop you before,” Noctis remarked. He glanced at the other man over the rim of his glass, but in doing so he saw Gelea standing further away, trying to catch his eyes. She looked seconds away from rolling her eyes at whichever poor soul was trying to talk to her, but as soon as Noctis saw the man next to her, he knew what it was about.

”Your Highness,” Gelea greeted him, nodding at Gladio. ”May I ask for a bit of help? I've been trying to explain the meaning of the word _temporary_ to Lord Bellor, but he appears unable to understand my words.”

Noctis would have laughed at the barely-disguised bite in her words if the topic hadn't twisted a knife in his heart. He smiled at Lord Bellor, who was one of the advisors in the current King's Council, and probably one of the few people in the Citadel who couldn't be reduced to an embarrassed mess no matter the situation. Noctis eyed him, probably more than a little haughty, and waited with one eyebrow raised.

”Your Highness,” Lord Bellor began, ”I was merely asking Miss Aurigena about her plans, seeing as working two different jobs is hardly an easy task even for one as skilled as herself–”

Noctis cut him off with a lazy wave. ”Of course you were,” he said. ”Alas, her duties are between myself and my father, and despite sitting in his council, the matter of her employment is not for you to worry about. I have full faith her abilities, now and in the future.”

”My apologies, your Highness,” Lord Bellor amended, dipping his chin in a polite nod. ”But I must admit, it is not Miss Aurigena whose abilities I doubt, but rather Mr. Scientia's – I simply cannot see him being able to fulfill the duties as your advisor any longer.”

Only years and years of training and various kinds of lessons kept Noctis from laughing out loud as disbelief took over every cell of his being. He could see Gelea mouth a silent 'wow' over the rim of her champagne flute, and next to him, even Gladio was beginning to look a bit more like himself.

”In that case, you must be blinder than Ignis is,” Noctis said coolly, enjoying the snorts of horrified laughter all around him; they had gathered more than a few eavesdroppers. ”Ignis Scientia is a man like no other, and whether you like it or not, he will return to his rightful position as my adviser as soon as he is able to–”

”Yes, your Highness,” Lord Bellor cut in, ”I understand your personal feelings on the matter, but from where I am standing, it appears that Miss Aurigena is far more qualified to act as your advisor.”

Stunned silence fell over them. While some of the people around them were most likely in support of Ignis resigning from his post, the majority still seemed shocked that someone would not only cut off the prince mid-speech, but also refute his opinion so openly and explicitly. Noctis himself didn't particularly mind being talked down to, especially by a person who had been serving the crown for longer than he'd been alive; while he didn't exactly care for Lord Bellor as a person, even he had to admit that the man had more than earned his robes.

Still, no-one discredited Ignis in his presence.

”I would like to remind you that discrimination over disabilities is, in fact, illegal in this country,” Noctis spoke. His voice was calm and clear, pitched loud enough to carry over the group of people crowded around them. ”Ignis Scientia will be my advisor, and that is final. Miss Aurigena, on the other hand, will be my Minister of Health and Welfare – unless, of course, you happen to know of someone better suited for the task.”

It was not a secret that Lord Bellor's son had been vying for the same position since he'd been old enough to begin working for the crown, just as it was no secret that Gelea was currently the one winning the race. Noctis watched as Lord Bellor's face hardened into a stony expression as the people around them whispered to each other.

”Of course, your Highness,” Lord Bellor said, bowing down. ”My apologies. If you'll excuse me.”

”Please enjoy the party, Lord Bellor.” A small smirk appeared on Noctis' face. ”And please, if you happen to cross paths with Ignis this evening, do thank him for his help in banishing the Starscourse and saving the world from eternal darkness – after all, that is what we're here to celebrate tonight.”

A tight smile, and Lord Bellor disappeared into the crowds.

* * *

Later the same evening, long after the last guests had left the Citadel grounds, Noctis left his rooms and wandered down the hallways to his father's personal suite. The two guards standing on each side of the grand, wooden doors nodded at him, reaching to pull them open for Noctis. He thanked the guards and stepped into the first room, and, hearing faint music from the direction of Regis' personal library, quickly made his way there. He found his father lounging on a settee, wearing what were essentially a pair of pyjamas and a dressing gown. A book sat open on his lap, but he seemed far more focused on the glass of some amber liquid in his hand.

”Son,” Regis greeted him, closing the book. ”Pour yourself a drink, if you wish to.”

”Right.” The decanter war on the desk, so Noctis moved next to it and grabbed one of the glasses. It was a brandy night, apparently; he didn't really care for the drink, but it was such a popular spirit that he'd already decided it would be easier to gain some sort of an appreciation for it than it would be to decline a glass every time he was offered one. After pouring out a couple sips, he stoppered the decanter and sat down on one of the plush armchairs near where his father was reclined. The music continued to play in the background, a classical piece Noctis recognized as one of his father's favorites.

”How are you tonight, Noctis?” Regis asked after he'd settled into the chair. ”I've heard more than a few whispers of something going down at the party earlier this evening.”

Humor twinkled in Regis' eyes as he spoke, but still Noctis sighed, sinking into the cushions. ”Bellor was talking shit about Ignis,” he admitted after a moment. ”Not that he was the only one. Just the only one with the guts to speak his mind while I was there to hear it.”

Regis hummed noncommittally. ”He does tend to do that,” he said. ”On one hand, it makes him a good advisor, seeing as he's actually willing to stand up for himself and his beliefs, but at the same time...”

”He's an insufferable asshole?” Noctis offered, grinning. He sipped at his drink and took a moment trying to identify it further, but failed. ”I just hate it though, how everyone suddenly thinks Iggy's so incapable of doing his job, when in reality he just needs some time to heal.”

”They thought the same when he first began to sat in on various council meetings,” Regis spoke. ”I imagine they'll continue to try to undermine him at every opportunity they get. You shouldn't let it get to you too much – it is simply another factor in leading lives such as ours.”

Noctis didn't reply. Of course he knew that both the court and the council were filled to the brim with strong-willed, downright viscious people who were willing to do almost anything to further advance their own positions or causes. Nevertheless, it hurt him to see how easily people turned on on Ignis, how cruel they could be to a faithful servant of a man who'd been injured in the battle to save mankind. They all came back with their own wounds, but because Ignis' were the most visible and definite of all, he'd suddenly become a pariah in the eyes of his own peers.

They had known it was coming, but it was still beyond infuriating.

”You have not yet answered my original question, my son,” Regis reminded him suddenly, smirking a little. ”As much as I admire your willingness to stand up for your friend, I still would like to know how _you_ are faring, Noctis.”

Noctis blinked, then sighed. ”I'm... fine,” he said, almost mumbling the words. ”Really. I'm worried for my friends, but I'm doing better than I was before this whole thing started.”

It was true, and Noctis knew his father felt the same; he'd almost cried when he'd seen Regis walk about without his cane and brace. All his life, he'd watched Regis wither as the crystal sucked life out of them both, and all his life, he'd known that they would both end up giving their lives for their people, one way or another. Noctis felt like a different man altogether, like a massive pressure had been raised from his shoulders – and in a way, that was exactly what had happened.

”Well, you've certainly learned to wake at human hours,” Regis said, smiling deviously. ”You're not having trouble sleeping, are you?”

Noctis had to think before answering. ”Not really,” he said slowly. ”I'm not tired or anything, and I can fall asleep well enough. It's just that I need less sleep than before, or something like that, I guess.”

Regis nodded. ”It is much the same with me,” he said kindly. When he smiled, the crinkles at his eyes deepened. ”Nevertheless, do promise me that if you start having difficulties with your sleep schedule, or anything else really, you will talk to your physician about it.”

”Of course, dad.” Noctis returned the smile with one of his own and in doing so, he felt warmth like he hadn't felt in ages, since his early childhood most likely. As soon as he'd grown enough to start learning about responsibilities and conduct and the crystal, things had started piling atop each other until it took all his might to keep on standing underneath them. Fear for his father, fear for himself, then eventually fear for his friends and his people... but it was all in the past now. They had survived, and the crystal was gone. Regis had likely added a small handful of years to his remaining lifespan, and Noctis would even more likely become the longest-living king in the history of their bloodline.

It had cost lives. Insomnia may have survived, but most of Altissia hadn't, the people swept away by the ocean, crushed by crumbling houses, or blown apart by Imperial soldiers. It had cost Ignis' sight, and it had cost Gladio's self-confidence, not to mention everything that was wrong with Prompto.

Noctis had gained everything, but paid nothing.


	6. Gladio I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio is a failure of a Shield. No-one else can see this.

The entire morning of the gala, Gladio had felt like shit. He'd been forced to stay up too late, he'd had to ditch his workout plan for several hours, and his meal plan had flown right out of the window when his dinner had been replaced by various little bites of this and that, smoked salmon here and bitter berries there. When he'd returned to the Manor at just past midnight, he'd been too hungry to sleep and had finished the day with one of the Cup Noodles stashed under his bed.

It hadn't been a good day, and at quarter to five in the morning, after a hour spent running, Gladio didn't feel any better. He had breakfast cooking on the stove, an omelette consisting of six eggs, two slices of ham and an entire bag of spinach wilting on the top of it. Protein, iron, and vitamins, he'd need them all to get through the rest of his workouts. After carefully folding the omelette in half, Gladio dropped a slice of multi-grain bread in the toaster and poured himself one glass of orange juice and another of water. A moment later, the toast was done; Gladio finished it off with slices of avocado and plated everything up.

His legs felt like lead, and being able to sit down to eat felt better than it should have. Gladio rubbed at his eyes and grabbed his fork, only to be interrupted by the sounds of someone approaching the kitchen. Iris wouldn't be up this early and their father was staying at the Citadel, and Jared wouldn't come in until seven either – Gladio's fingers tightened around the fork and his shoulders tensed in anticipation, waiting to see what kind of an intruder would walk right into the Amicitia Manor.

A moment later, Gladio found himself staring at his father. He cursed silently and turned to his breakfast, hoping Clarus hadn't noticed anything wrong. His heart was still beating wildly against his ribs as he shoved a forkful of omelette into his mouth.

”Morning, son,” Clarus said. ”Did you make anything for your poor old father?”

”Didn't know you were home,” Gladio grunted. Clarus hadn't been home once since their return, instead opting to stay at the Citadel due to the massive amounts of work piling up in the aftermath of everything that had happened. Today, however, Clarus was dressed in well-worn jeans and an old shirt, a sure sign that he'd be staying home unless something urgent came up.

”It's been a busy time. Coffee?”

Bite, chew, swallow. ”No thanks.”

Gladio focused in his breakfast, both because he was on a schedule, but also because he had a bad feeling about the reason behind Clarus' sudden appearance. Taking a long gulp of his orange juice, he glanced at his father, who was pouring oat flakes into a measuring cup and then into a deep bowl, along with water and a pinch of salt. A bite of his toast, and he heard the microwave door open and close, followed by sharp beeps as Clarus set the timer.

Gladio had almost half of his breakfast left. If he wasn't so hungry, he would have considered skipping it just to get rid of his father faster.

”Noctis mentioned that you went to fight Gilgamesh on your own,” Clarus began conversationally, causing Gladio to curse. The coffee machine sputtered in the background.

”Yeah,” he said, knowing there was nothing he could do to avoid the conversation any longer. Then again, he was supposed to meet some Crownsguards for an early-morning workout in thirty minutes, and it would take about twenty to drive to the training grounds... ”Kicked his ass too.”

”I see.” The microwave finished with a ear-splitting series of beeps and Clarus pulled out his porridge, pouring out fresh berries and some honey onto it before grabbing a cup of coffee and sitting at the table. ”May I ask, what prompted this sudden escapade?”

Fuck. ”Saw the chance and took it,” Gladio replied, shoveling food into his mouth in a hurry. Clarus was looking at him with an unreadable expression, one that made him nervous and ready to bolt. ”Sorry, I've got training in thirty, gotta get going soon.”

Clarus swallowed a mouthful of porridge without taking his eyes off of Gladio. ”I'm sure you can take a moment to talk with your own father,” he eventually said, not reacting to the grimace Gladio couldn't hold off. ”In fact, I'd quite prefer for you to stay home today.”

God-fucking-dammit. Gladio gulped down the rest of his water just to get a moment to think about his answer and how to get out of the situation. ”I really can't, I promised the guys I'd be there to spar with them today.” It was a thin excuse, and he knew it, but it was also all he had.

Clarus sighed, a horrible, terrible sound Gladio had learned to dread when he was a little kid, because it meant worry and a worried Clarus was an iron wall one couldn't get around. Panic began to swell in Gladio's chest. ”Gladiolus,” Clarus said, spoon down on the table and eyes soft and full of pity, ”I'm worried about you. We've barely had a moment to talk after you returned home, and every conversation we've had, you've talked to me about everything but yourself. Your friends have told me more about the journey than you have – can you imagine how I felt when I heard from _Noctis_ that you'd went and battled Gilgamesh?”

Gladio grit his teeth and glanced at the old grandfather clock ticking by nearby. ”What was there to say? I fought him, I survived, that's all. Sorry, pops, I really gotta get going–”

”Gladio,” Clarus said, voice heavy in the quiet of the early morning. Gladio winced where he was standing. ”Sit down, son. We need to talk.”

”Dad,” Gladio pleaded, hating that he had to beg to get away from his father, but he also couldn't ignore his workout plan for any longer. ”I really need to go–”

”Sit.” The word was an order, and Gladio followed it. He sat down on his chair and crossed his arms, staring at his father across the table. His heart was still hammering too fast and too loud, but anger was beginning to take over the panic from earlier, and Gladio found himself fuming under his father's gaze.

”Well?” he grit between his teeth, glaring at Clarus, who clearly wasn't happy with his attitude. ”What is it?”

For a moment, Gladio was sure Clarus was going to blow up, but to his surprise, the older man kept his calm. ”Forgive me for worrying about my only son,” Clarus spoke coolly, carefully. ”You've survived a war that should've killed us all, yet it seems to me you're hell-bent on finishing what the Imperials couldn't.”

”I don't know what you're fucking talking about,” Gladio bit out, leaning back in his chair. Clarus sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, eventually stopping to stare at Gladio with pain clear in his eyes. Gladio would have paid a lot of money to be anywhere else but the kitchen with his father.

”You're working yourself to death, son,” Clarus said, pleading both in words and tone. ”You've been training for some fifteen, sixteen hours every day for two weeks now, and I know you'd be doing it a lot longer if you didn't have any obligations to fulfill. You ignore your friends when you can, you barely sleep, you don't eat enough for the amount of activity you're forcing yourself into... Do you really want to die that badly? Because that's what you're doing, Gladiolus, you're killing yourself! I'm not the only one who has noticed either, both Noctis and Ignis and several of your training buddies have come forward telling me there's something wrong with–”

”There's nothing wrong with me,” Gladio interrupted, glaring daggers. ”I'm doing my job, my duty, and frankly speaking I'm surprised you have a problem with it, father, since this is exactly what you've raised me for.”

It was a low blow, and he knew it, but it was enough to render Clarus speechless at least for a moment and that in turn was enough time for Gladio to stand up and try to make his way out of the room. It was true he'd been raised to die, but it was also a topic they generally just danced around, sometimes gently poking at it, but never completely acknowledging the ramifications of their name and duty. Gladio marched away from the kitchen table, leaving his dirty dishes for Jared to clean – not his usual behavior, but sometimes there simply wasn't any time for clean-up, and in Gladio's mind, this was one of those situations.

”I've already contacted all training areas in the Citadel grounds,” Clarus spoke up suddenly, causing Gladio to still in the doorway. His father's voice was hollow, devoid of any emotions, and Gladio felt his heart skip a bit. ”The staff is under explicit instructions to turn you away at the door, should you try to enter.”

It was Gladio's turn to be speechless. He stood at the doorway, facing away from his father, and found himself on the verge of panic as his plans were ripped from him for the second day in a row. For a moment, he stood still, staring at the dimly lit hallway ahead of him, not speaking a word; then he came to a decision and walked on, bidding his father goodbye through gritted teeth.

* * *

The day was bright and sunny, promising a bout of sweltering heat as hours passed on. Though Clarus had forbidden him from using the Citadel training faculties – and likely their home gym as well, he hadn't bothered to check – there was nothing he could do to stop Gladio from simply jogging over to the nearest park for a little outdoors workout. The park was technically a public space, but since it was situated in the heart of a neighborhood housing most Lucian nobles, it tended to be on the emptier side. Before, Gladio hadn't minded working out in public parks, surrounded by joggers and mothers and dog-walkers, but today he was more than thankful for the little bit of quiet and privacy.

He'd shedded his shirt soon after arriving, leaving it under a tree standing atop a sloping hill. The jog to the park had been enough of a warm-up, and he'd continued with sprints up and down the hill, pausing for a few minutes before continuing onto push-ups and sit-ups, then burpees and mountain climbers before another set of sprints. By the end of the first hour Gladio was a trembling, sweat-soaked mess, gasping for breath under the great oak tree. He'd take a breather, drink some water, and maybe continue with some kind of yoga – he should be limber, he knew, and after he finished the sequence, he could go back to running once again.

He couldn't practice weapons out in the open, but he could work on his speed, agility, and stamina. He was strong, his arms rarely tired from swinging his sword, but everything else needed improving. It just wouldn't do for the Shield of the future king to be a weak-ass loser like him.

”I thought I might find you here.”

Clarus, again. Gladio closed his eyes, sighing, but didn't try to escape. He was too tired to move, too tired to fight, but their earlier conversation had also planted the seed of doubt in his mind. Silent, he gazed past tree branches at the blue sky above him, waiting while Clarus sat down on the ground next to where he was laying.

”Where else would I go, when you won't let me fucking train anymore,” Gladio grunted. His voice sounded petuland and childish even to his own ears.

For a while, Clarus was silent. Gladio could hear little else other than his own labored breaths; a gentle rustle in the tree, a bird chirping somewhere. No traffic, no people, nothing but him and his father. Suddenly desperate, Gladio threw his arms over his stinging eyes and waited.

”The way I see it,” Clarus eventually began, ”it's either you think yourself too good, or not good enough. If I recall correctly, we dealt with the former when you were a bit younger – was it your fifteenth summer, or your sixteenth, when you started wondering about the point of our duty, if we only lived for the sake of an honorable death?”

”Fifteenth,” Gladio murmured. It was a couple years after he'd started learning to fight on top of simply working out, and the reality of his life had began to sink in somewhere along the way. He'd started spending more and more time with Noctis, whom he'd thought an entitled brat at the time, and Ignis, whose mothering of the prince had only served to piss him off further.

Next to him, Clarus hummed low in his throat. ”That's what I thought. Now, I _suppose_ you might still be thinking the same, but your conduct these days makes me think your problem is the latter. Am I right in my assumption, son?”

Instead of answering, Gladio gave an awkward shrug, unable to do much else but twitch the muscles of his arms due to his position on the ground. The shadow was cool on his damp skin and the drying sweat had left him shivering despite the heat of the day. His shirt was on the ground near him but he couldn't reach for it without uncovering his face, which he wasn't willing to do.

”I think I've told you so many times before, but such feelings are but another fact of life for our blood,” Clarus continued. Gladio heard him move about slightly, like he'd shifted to lean against the tree or something. ”Either we grow bitter and learn to loathe our duty, or we embrace it and find ourselves feeling inferior and unworthy as soon as the smallest thing goes wrong. I've been there, my father and grandfather and all our ancestors as well; it was only a matter of time before you fell victim to your perceived imperfections as well.”

The dampness on Gladio's face was no longer from the sweat on his arm, but from the tears welling up in his eyes. He bit his lips, tried very hard to hold back the first sob, and somehow managed – only to give in seconds later. ”Everything just kept on going wrong,” he whispered in a hoarse voice as quiet sobs caused his chest to heave. ”I knew it wasn't exactly a safe trip to make, but every turn we took, we saw daemons and MTs and even a couple dicks who thought they could fucking rob us.”

”It's a whole different world, isn't it?” Clarus asked. Gladio could hear the smile in his voice. ”Here in Insomnia, we're never alone, and more importantly, we only have to worry about our charges. Out there, however... There's no army to turn to when things go sour, no men to order about while you make sure the crown is safe. There's only a few of you, too, and maybe things get a little too close along the way. Friendships deepen and the lines between charge and friend and duty get a bit blurry, and you know what you're supposed to be doing, but your attention is already divided. You take on too much work, let it become a distraction, and then things fall apart because you simply cannot be everywhere at once, and suddenly nothing is enough anymore and you, too, are falling apart at the seams. We've all been there before, son, it's nothing to be ashamed of.”

Gladio hadn't been able to restrain his cries past the beginning of Clarus' speech, and by the time it finished, he was openly sobbing into the palms of his hands, chest heaving and breath hitching. ”I couldn't help any of them,” he sobbest past his hands, ”not Noctis, not Iggy, not Prompto. I tried but I was never there when they needed me most, dad, I tried but I couldn't–”

A warm hand lay on his shaking shoulder. ”Noctis came home alive,” Clarus said, and for once, his words carried a heavier meaning than his tone. ”You've done enough.”

Gladio laughed, a wet, snotty sound that almost choked his breath away. ”It was Prom who saved him in the end, though. I couldn't do anything but watch. Some Shield I am!”

The sword in Noctis' chest had been his ultimate failure; not Ignis' eyes, not Prompto's disappearance, not even the crumbled city of Altissia. When Noctis had fought Ardyn, he'd stood by the side as useless as one man blinded and another battered beyond sanity, unable to do anything but watch, always ready, but never needed. Then, when Noctis had fallen down, heart pierced by old metal, it had been Ignis doing his best to help while Gladio simply held his charge down, ready to pull the blade out as soon as he was given permission. Their curatives hadn't been anywhere near enough, and without Prompto pulling out the Phoenix Down, Noctis would have died in a cold room in the bowels of Zegnautus Keep.

Gladio had failed that day, plain and simple.

* * *

That night, Gladio had gone to bed at a reasonable hour, belly full of food and aching muscles pliant after a long bath. When morning came, he woke up to the gleam of a sun rising behind his windows, not the trill of his phone, and a quick glance at his bedside table told him he'd slept almost till eight. He sighed, and rolled over, trying to ignore the discomfort rising within him as he thought of the day; Clarus had told him to take the rest of the week off both training and working, and there was next to nothing for him to do during his short, enforced vacation.

The light on his phone was blinking, a slow flash of white unnoticiable in the bright room. Gladio grabbed the phone with a groan, knowing exactly who was texting him.

**Prompto (7:49 a.m.):** what's round and yellow and walks on two cute lil feet?  
**Prompto (7:49 a.m.):** A CHOCOBO!  
**Prompto (7:50 a.m.):** [chocobabbyyyyyy.jpg]  
**Prompto (7:52 a.m.):** her name's DAISY and she's my new BABY ≧◡≦  
**Prompto (7:53 a.m.):** i got her from my new physiotherapist!! he's trying to bribe me already!!

Gladio snorted. Attached was a picture of a yellow stress ball with a little orange beak and two wiggly legs, and Prompto had decorated the photograph with several glittery hearts in various shades of pink. A flicker of worry gnawed at him at the mention of a physiotherapist, but at the same time, the sight of Prompto texting him like he'd used to made his heart fill with warmth. It was a horrible emotion, feeling both dread and joy at once, so Gladio scrolled up on the screen, reading through earlier texts from the blond boy.

**Prompto (1:23 p.m.):** look at my new best buddy!!!  
**Prompto (1:24 p.m.):** [gladdybloom.jpg]  
**Prompto (1:25 p.m.):** HE doesn't ignore all my texts like someone else i know!! (๑ò︵ò๑)  
**Prompto (1:26 p.m.):** i'm gonna share ALL my secrets with him!!! ♡(ŐωŐ)  
**Prompto (1:37 p.m.):** o shit maybe i shouldn't be talking to flowers in public lmao am i nuts or am i nuts

This time the picture depicted a bunch of gladioli in full bloom and two pairs of shoes just inside the frame, Prompto's worn sneakers next to expertly polished Crownsguard boots; Gladio figured it was most likely Cor in the picture, taking Prompto on adventures around the Royal Gardens. He sniggered a little, but Prompto's little jab at his inattentiveness hadn't gone unnoticed. Gladio knew that if he scrolled any further on the messaging app, he'd only find a series of one-sides conversations.

He was a shit friend.

Gladio sighed and pulled up the keyboard, tapping in a message and deleting it right after. He didn't know what to say, not when he'd failed both as a friend and a soldier. After a moment of anxious pondering he finally settled for the most basic of greetings and pressed send.

**Gladio (8:16 a.m.):** hi

The reply was almost instantaneous.

**Prompto (8:17 a.m.):** w(°ｏ°)w  
**Prompto (8:17 a.m.):** he lives!!!!  
**Gladio (8.19 a.m.):** he does  
**Gladio (8.22 a.m.):** and he's sorry  
**Prompto (8.23 a.m.):** (ノ^∇^)ノ  
**Prompto (8.24 a.m.):** are you doing better now?? did my baby daisy cheer you up??

Gladio sighed into his pillow and resisted the urge to smash his phone agains the wall. Prompto shouldn't be worrying about him, not when the kid had so many things on his own plate, things Gladio didn't even know about because he'd spent the past two weeks doing all he could in order to avoid his best friends.

**Gladio (8.31 a.m.):** i'm really sorry prom  
**Gladio (8.32 a.m.):** i've been a horrible friend to you  
**Prompto (8.34 a.m.):** it's okay big guy!! i'm not mad i love you  
**Prompto (8.35 a.m.):** are you okay?? everyone's been worried about you  
**Prompto (8.38 a.m.):** do you need a hug? cuz i have it on good authority that cor gives really really REALLY good hugs ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
**Gladio (8.41 a.m.):** i'm okay blondie don't you worry about me  
**Gladio (8.41 a.m.):** also cor????  
**Prompto (8.42 a.m.):** yah!!!  
**Prompto (8.43 a.m.):** [hugsiesss.jpg]

Gladio stared at the picture of Cor awkwardly hugging Prompto to his side, wondering just how the blond had managed to wheedle Cor into taking a selfie with him. The hug – if it could even be called that – didn't look comfortable at all, but somehow, he didn't doubt Prompto's words. It was good to see that the kid had someone trustworthy standing by his side.

**Prompto (8.49 a.m.):** also all this therapy stuff is making me a lot smarter (not any less insane tho lol) so here's your friendly neighborhood nutjob telling you to talk to noct and igster and get your shit together please (*⌒▽⌒*)θ～♪

For a long while, Gladio just stared at the ceiling above his bed, trying to decide between the easy way out and the right way out. Eventually he sighed and typed in one last message to Prompto.

**Gladio (8.58 a.m.):** yes sir

* * *

Organizing a meeting with Ignis turned out to be difficult, partially because the advisor was too busy with his new tutors, partially because he hadn't yet mastered his new phone. In the end, Gladio had called Centis, who had texted him the assistant's phone number, and then he'd used the assistant to converse with Ignis. Things were difficult on his end, and he knew enough to understand that they must have been more complicated for Ignis.

At noon, Gladio walked into Ignis' personal rooms, arriving just in time to introduce himself to the assistant, who was on his way out. Ignis himself was standing in the kitchen, where he held a red bell pepper in his hands and examined it with his fingertips. Gladio plopped down on the sofa and stared.

”Have you finally come to your senses, then?” Ignis asked. He picked up a short vegetable knife and carefully sliced the bell pepper into quarters. He discarded the stem and began to work through each quarter, carefully removing the seeds and the white parts inside. Gladio's heart was hammering so loudly he was sure Ignis could hear it.

”Guess so,” he admitted, more than a little ashamed. ”Sorry I've been so...”

”Distant? Inattentive?” Ignis voice was about as sharp as his daggers, and Gladio couldn't help grimacing. ”Though I suppose you must have had your reasons.”

”Yeah...” He'd come over to apologize, to fight for their friendship, and crying about his own griefs was not on the list for the day. Gladio watched as Ignis reached for the knife, almost taking hold of the blade instead of the handle. He had several small cuts on his fingers, some covered by plasters, but his movements were slow, like he'd already learned his lesson on being careful around sharp items.

Watching Ignis, Gladio felt like his own troubles didn't even compare.

”You should try talking to Prompto,” Ignis said. He began slicing one of the quarters into thin strips, slow but not steady. ”He's been quite anxious about the situation with his hand and could use some support from his friends.”

Gladio had to swallow before he was able to speak past the tightness in his throat. ”Already did that this morning,” he said. ”Kid was the one who told me to come see you. You've been talking with him?”

”He tried texting me, but unfortunately I'm not yet very skilled at responding,” Ignis replied. ”He's taken to calling me in the evenings, though I did have to promise I would not be upset if he hung up on me. Did he tell you about the hand at all?”

”No. Sent me a pic of his new chocobo stress ball, said he got it from his physiotherapist. That's all.”

Ignis hummed. ”He's quite worried,” he said. ”The surgeons have examined his hand and they've come to the conclusion that while the palm and the fingers are more or less beyond their help, surgery on the thumb might give Prompto a better range of movement.”

It was pretty much what Gladio had expected to hear. He'd seen the hand, of course, and had felt horrified nausea at the sight the mangled, twisted bones. He'd been the one to administer first-aid to Prompto after his rescue, and he doubted he'd ever forget the feeling of those battered fingers around his own, how he'd asked the blond to move them, and how little they had reacted. Dealing with Prompto during those two weeks between Zegnautus Keep and Hammerhead had been one of the most harrowing experiences in Gladio's life, because when the blond was awake and aware, he was terrified and panicky, trying to escape from them, and every time one of them stopped him from leaving, he'd dropped listless on the ground. Gladio was used to people feeling intimidated or even scared of him, but when someone he considered an important friend fell catatonic in his presence... It hadn't been easy.

Gladio hadn't heard much about Prompto's mental state after their return, but the little snippets information still sounded like a miracle to him.

”Is it the surgery that scares him, or the healing?” he asked. Ignis nodded and began to cube the bell pepper slices.

”Both. The doctors cannot guarantee that the surgery would be successful and Prompto remembers the pain of it being broken. The recovery, of course, would also be quite painful since we no longer have potions.” Ignis finished chopping the bell pepper and carefully scooped the bits into a clear glass bowl. He turned around and offered the bowl to Gladio. ”Are these anywhere near equal in size?”

Gladio blinked at the bowl and turned it over in his hands, peering at the little cubed peppers. They weren't as neat as Ignis' work had been before the events of Altissia, but the sizes of them were regular enough, or so Gladio himself thought. He handed the bowl back to Ignis.

”Seems good to me,” he said. ”What're you making?”

”A warm salad out of couscous and vegetables.” Ignis set the bowl back on the counter and felt his way to the freezer, from which he removed two plastic bags. ”Are these peas?”

”The bags are yellow, I'm thinking corn,” Gladio replied. Ignis returned the second bag to the freezer and pulled out another one. This one was green but looked too large and lumpy for peas, and Ignis put it back without asking for confimation. The third bag was green and small. ”That one looks good to me.”

”My thanks. Will you be staying for lunch? I'm afraid it won't measure up to my usual quality, but–”

”It's fine, Iggy,” Gladio cut in, smiling. ”If you're offering, I'm eating.”

* * *

Later that same day, Gladio faced the toughest obstacle so far: the hallway leading towards Noctis' rooms and study. He hovered at the corner of two intersecting hallways, staying out of the guards' sightlines – it was a bit too easy, and he made a mental note to talk to Cor and his father about it – while he tried to gather the courage to actually enter the suite. Texting with Prompto had been... not easy, but not that difficult either, and the meeting with Ignis had gone well enough. Noctis was a whole another issue, because he wasn't simply a friend, but his charge and duty as well. Ignoring Prompto and Ignis was one thing, but ignoring Noctis... Gladio sighed, desperate in a way he couldn't quite describe. He was afraid of making things worse than what they already were.

When he finally stepped into the hallway, the two guards saluted and pulled Noctis' doors open. Gladio marched straight towards the study and announced himself at the door, waiting to be called in. When he received permission to enter, his palms were damp with cold sweat.

Noctis looked up from his work, impassive. ”Did I miss a meeting?” he asked, almost cruel in tone, and began a show of flipping through a pile of papers. ”Or is there some other reason you're here to see me?”

Gladio grimaced; he deserved that and a lot more. The door closed with a quiet thud and Noctis kept on staring at him, gaze almost lazy as he waited for Gladio to make his move.

”I'm sorry,” he eventually choked out, unable to face Noctis head-on so instead he looked to the side, where a fire burned in the hearth.

”What for?” Noctis asked, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands. Gladio was silent for a beat; once again, like so many times before, he found himself missing the words he needed to describe what he so badly needed and wanted to say.

”For being a shit friend,” Gladio spoke. He stood at attention, hands clasped behind his back. ”For being a shit Shield. For disappearing.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, the expression on Noctis' face morphed from casual indifference to a gentle smile, and he beckoned Gladio closer, waiting until he could grasp the Shield by his hands before speaking. Gladio knew that Noctis was neither a cruel nor a vindictive man, but still, he feared.

”I know you're going through a rough patch right now, and I think I have a pretty good idea why,” Noctis started, speaking in hushed tones. ”If you need time for yourself, then you're allowed that. But you can't just drop off the face of Eos, Gladio, you can't just leave us hanging and wondering if you're gonna come back or not. We were all worried, and when I tried to help, you turned me away. That's not okay. We're already broken and you can't – you can't break us apart even further, okay? I need you, Gladio, and I need Iggy and Prom too. I need all four of us together, and that includes you.”

Gladio did not cry. He didn't have it in himself to cry when he'd spent several hours the previous day doing just that, and when he'd just used an entire day on trying to make up and apologize to his friends. Noctis held onto him, and his hands shook, but he didn't cry because even in the spite of the tiny nagging voice at the back of his head telling him that he was allowed to struggle just like anyone else, he knew better than to listen to it.

He'd get back to his friends, but he'd also need to get stronger for them.


	7. Prompto II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto says his goodbyes, then tries his hand at a few hellos.

Over the passing time, Prompto had fallen into a semi-comfortable routine. He'd wake up early in the morning for physical therapy, eagerly waiting for the day he could greet the sunrise with a run through the Citadel gardens. Six days a week, he ate lunch with Cor; the seventh meal he shared with Gelea while Cor ate with the King and some other important people. During these times, Gelea would walk him through the next week's appointments and organize everything that needed to be organized, including the tutoring sessions about proper court etiquette and politics and whatnot.

After eating lunch with Cor, the two of them would take a walk in the gardens. By the time October rolled around with cooling air and wilting flowers, Prompto was able to enjoy these walks, his body finally accustomed to light exercise. In two months, he'd only gained a fraction of his old weight back, nowhere near the end goal, but at the same time, a healthy flush had returned to his cheeks. He was healing.

Though the physical changes in his health were perhaps the most noticeable ones, Prompto knew that much of his progress was due to the therapy sessions, first daily, now a little sparser. At first, he'd loathed the idea of therapy – too many years of neglect, isolation, and too-early independence had left their marks – but he'd also been forced to admit that he needed the help. Way back in Gralea, he'd already known he was a mess, and the return home had only deepened the sense of wrongness. Unable to hold himself together on his own, Prompto had placed his trust – his life – on the hands of anyone willing to help, be it Cor or the therapist, and he'd been rewarded in kind.

It had taken a lot to get where he was. Food made him sick, the slightest excersise was enough to knock him him out. The cocktail of medications he'd been prescribed made him even sicker and more exhausted, until the one day they began to work and turned the ship around. Prompto still had panic attacks and flashbacks, nightmares and sleepless nights. Sometimes he'd feel like he was floating just past his body, and at other times, the air around him would freeze solid, squeezing and choking him until he felt lightheaded and dizzy.

It had taken a lot, but he was healing. Eating, sleeping, exercising. Socializing, even, over the phone and in hundreds of texts messages. Little by little, Prompto had grown more and more comfortable with the knowledge of residing in the same building as Noctis, Ignis, and Gladio, and even more slowly, he'd started entertaining thoughts of meeting with them. His birthday was coming up; it would be nice to hang out with his friends, to be _able_ to handle his friends.

At the same time, as he grew to accept the presence of his friends, he began seeing threats elsewhere. Dark shadows in the corners of the room, the swish of coat-tails in empty air. Ardyn would not leave him be, not so easily; even in death, the monster still haunted him. After all the progress he'd made, he was too afraid to let anyone know.

* * *

Prompto stood in the kitchen-living of his old apartment and watched as two men carried cardboard boxes out of the building and into the moving van waiting outside. Cor was in the room with him while a small group of Crownsguards stood outside, protecting him from the masses of people crowding the street. When they'd arrived, somewhat early in the morning, Cor had pointed out a lone photojournalist sleeping in a car; within minutes, more people had started to arrive, first journalists and newscrews, and then the fans screaming his name in a manner more befitting a rock concert than a moving day.

He'd been warned about it beforehand – more than once, even – but witnessing his new fame with his own eyes had been a shock and more than he thought he could handle.

”That was the last box, sir,” one of the movers said, coming back to the room. ”Is there anything else left?”

Prompto gazed around the apartment, thinking. He didn't have a lot of belongings, and he'd only spent a short two hours directing Cor over which items to pack and which ones to leave to his parents, should they ever choose to return. As per the doctor's orders, Cor had only let him pack some of the more personal items he didn't want anyone else seeing, not that there were a lot of those. After clearing out all his belongins, the apartment was empty, filled only with utilitarian furniture and memories of a past life.

”Uh, I think that's all,” Prompto said, turning to smile at the movers. ”Thanks a lot, guys.”

”It's our job,” the older of the two men grinned. ”Should we leave now?”

Cor nodded. ”I'll alert the staff at the Citadel, let them know you're coming. We might be a bit late.”

”Of course, sir. We'll get going, then.”

The movers left the apartment once more, but this time they closed the front door, leaving Prompto and Cor alone in the silence. With the door closed and curtains drawn over each window, the noise coming from the street was muffled, and if Prompto wasn't so hyperfocused on the matter, he probably wouldn't have cared about it at all.

The apartment was empty of all his personal belongings, and something ached deep in his heart as he let his gaze roll across the living room, the dining table, the small kitchen. After the movers left, Cor had sat down on the sofa and pulled out his phone, giving Prompto a moment without the blond needing to ask for one. Tightness swelled in Prompto's throat and he swallowed, squeezing his arms around his favorite chocobo plushie, a fat, round thing with flappy wings and two beady eyes. Rosie was about as wide as his waist was, and thus the perfect size for hugs.

One of the kitchen cabinets had a twisted hinge and wouldn't close properly. The fridge, clear of magnets and photographs and various little trinkets, was empty, the door propped open. The counter still had a few stains from spilled curry, and without even looking, Prompto knew that the same shade of yellow had stained a small patch on the floor right next to the counter. Some years before, around the time he'd began his Crownsguard training, he'd bought a carton of takeout from his favorite curry vendor after a long day at work, only to accidentally tip the container over. He'd cried, that day, out of exhaustion and frustration, and then he'd grown angry at himself for daring to cry over something so little; his past self would likely have hated what he'd become.

It was funny, Prompto thought, how he suddenly had all these memories of a house that had never felt like home before, how he suddenly found himself missing a mother and a father that hadn't been around in almost two years.

Blinking back the first tears threatening to spill, Prompto moved to the hallway, where darker patches on the wall indicated a dozen missing photograps. He stopped at the door to his own room, taking in the empty spaces, the open closet and cleared desk. His bed had been stripped, but he had no use for the sheets so he'd left them folded on the bed, waiting for his parents to come home, like he'd done so many times before. A couple tears spilled down Prompto's cheeks and he turned, saying goodbye to the room he'd grown up in.

At the door to his parents' room he hesitated, knowing deep inside he needed to step in and take a look, and so he did. The room was dusty, far dustier than the rest of the apartment, and the bed was covered with a white sheet that was wrinkled on the top. Once, months and months earlier, when Prompto still held hope, he'd curled up on the bed and cried himself to sleep waiting for people who never showed up. The next morning, he'd received a call and a birthday card on the mail. At the time, he hadn't realized that there was a goodbye hidden in the birthday wishes.

He'd seen enough. Prompto dried his eyes with the sleeve of his oversized hoodie, took one last look at the bedroom, and returned to where Cor was waiting. The marshal looked up from his phone and smiled at him. ”Ready?” he asked, pocketing the phone after Prompto nodded his head in confirmation.

”Yeah,” the blond mumbled, glancing around. As much as it hurt, he was ready to leave. He might never get to come back, but he was ready. ”Sorry you're stuck babysitting me all the time.”

Cor stood up. ”As the marshal of the Crownsguard, it is my duty to take care of my men,” he said. Prompto saw the words for what they were and smiled.

”Yeah?” he asked, grinning feebly. ”You do this often?”

”Every time I feel like someone might benefit from it,” Cor answered. ”Not often, but on an occasion. I... consider you a friend, Prompto, but even if I didn't, I'd still make sure you got the help you need.”

Prompto's grin felt a little brighter on his face and he bounced up to Cor, who had an embarrassed almost-blush on his face. For the first time since Altissia, he wished he still had his camera, which had been left in the Armiger after the crystal's magic disappeared. He missed his guns, too – they'd been presented to him when he was sworn into the Crownsguard, and he'd considered them a sign of how far he'd come – but it was the camera and all his photographs that upset him the most. He'd spent so much time documenting their journey, and in the end, it had all been for nothing.

”The men downstairs will escort us to the car,” Cor said, ushering Prompto towards the door. ”Stick close to me, try to put on a good face, and don't feel pressured to answer any questions. Ready?”

”Yeah, just a second.” Prompto slipped a slightly wrinkled envelope from the front pocket of his hoodie and placed it on the dining table. _To Mom and Dad_ , it read. He dropped his keys next to the letter and turned to face Cor. ”Alright, let's go.”

Cor nodded, face blank, and they left the apartment. Three Crownsguards were waiting inside the building and they immediately fell into formation around Prompto, who felt so out of place he was actually nauseous. The scene outside was best described as hell, people screaming and yelling on both sides of the road, cameras flashing and reporters trying to get close enough to push their microphones into his face.

In high school, he'd listened to Noctis recount stories of several similar occasions, and he'd felt sympathy. Here, in the midst of it all, he felt nothing but horror and a rising sense of anxiety, recognizing the tell-tale signs of a panic attack on its way. Just as Prompto was beginning to regret exiting the relative safety of the apartment complex, they arrived at the car. Cor and Prompto sat in the back while one of the Crownsguards took the wheel.

”Where to?” she asked, driving slowly past the small sea of people.

”The Citadel, please,” Cor replied, then reached for a button to raise the glass, because that was the kind of a car they were using. Prompto was being driven around like Noctis back in high school and the thought did nothing to help him feel better. ”You okay, kid?”

Prompto tried to nod. He felt breathless and lightheaded, but Rosie was a familiar weight on his lap, the yellow fabric a soothing texture under his fingers. The car took a turn into a larger street and sped up, leaving the screaming people far behind.

”Yeah, I'm good.”

He wasn't, not really, but Cor didn't prod any further and Prompto tilted his head so he could gaze out of the windows as familiar scenery disappeared in the past. This was just his normal anxiety acting up, he told himself, holding Rosie tighter; he was sad and scared and anxious, but his sudden panic had nothing to do with Ardyn, Besithia, the MTs. The steel bands around his ribs were his nerves, not the straps in the pods, and the people outside his apartment were scary, but not a threat.

Mournful as he was, this was his old normal, not the new one, and Prompto let himself wallow in the anxiety-laden comfort of it.

* * *

Two of the boxes had been filled with his collection of chocobo plushies, and those were the first boxes Prompto unpacked after eating lunch and kicking Cor out of the door. Now, he stood next to the windowseat, arms at his hips, eyeing the arrangement of his precious little birds. Rosie had been gifted the place of honor on his bed, but Daisy had joined the flock by the window; everything looked fine. Prompto grinned and snapped a picture with his phone to send to the others.

**Prompto (12:47 p.m.):** [chocobos.jpg]  
**Prompto (12:47 p.m.):** my babies!!!  
**Noctis (12:48 p.m.):** where's rosy

Prompto replied with a picture of his bed.

**Noctis (12:50 p.m.):** awe, give her a kiss from me [kissing face]  
**Prompto (12:51 p.m.):** she's a real princess!!  
**Gladio (12:55 p.m.):** oh sweet shiva you're worse than iris  
**Gladio (12:55 p.m.):** hang on a sec  
**Gladio (12:57 p.m.):** [0158213.jpg]  
**Prompto (12:59 p.m.):** you need to name your pics big guy!!  
**Noctis (1:01 p.m.):** yea what if its something NASTY  
**Gladio (1:02 p.m.):** oh fuck you  
**Ignis (1:02 p.m.):** Children.  
**Ignis (1:03 p.m.):** Gladiolus.  
**Prompto (1:03 p.m.):** uh oh mommy's mad!!

A sudden knock on the door startled Prompto, who'd been so focused on texting his friends he'd forgotten about the staff who was supposed to come help him unpack. He sent the others a quick apology before calling in the housekeeping. Two people entered, a man and a woman, and Prompto grinned at them before turning to face the boxes lined against a wall. There weren't a lot of them, only nine now that Prompto had taken out the plushie collection, and three of the remaining boxes had already been marked as storage.

”O-kay then,” Prompto drawled, a bit embarrassed to be giving orders to royal staff, especially as he wasn't allowed to help them any further. He looked at the boxes – one personal, two for clothes, one for books, and two for miscellaneous – and sighed.

He doubted he'd ever get used to living like this.

* * *

At quarter to six that evening, Cor arrived to escort Prompto to Ignis' personal suite. He'd been to Noctis' rooms a few times before, and during one of the tours, Noct had pointed out both Ignis and Gladio's rooms, though the Shield rarely made use of his. Now, Cor led him into a staircase, then down the hallway to the elevator, which took them down, not up. The place was a mess, Prompto thought, realizing that Cor hadn't been kidding when he said that the Queen Estel Suite was not within an easy reach for those living in the Residential Suites.

When they finally reached the corridor Prompto recognized as the one leading to Ignis' rooms, the blond couldn't help tensing in anticipation. His nerves had been acting up all day long, first because of the move and the people crowding around his old apartment complex, and then because of the approaching meeting. Earlier that day, he'd been anxious because he _had_ anxiety, but now he was anxious because his mind was a lot messier than just good old plain anxiety. Prompto twisted his fingers together and tried to remain calm.

”You don't have to do this today, kid,” Cor reminded him. ”I'm sure the guys will understand if you need to skip.”

Prompto shook his head. ”No, I wanna do this,” he murmured. ”I'm just – I'm scared, Cor.”

He was. He hadn't seen Noctis, Ignis, or Gladio since the day of the gala. Physically, his health was much better than it had been, but the mental side of his health was a whole another issue. He was working on it, but it was slow and hard and tedious, and there were days when he wanted to give up, to escape and leave everything scary behind, because it was not the 'normal' life he had problems with, no; it was his friends that made up the biggest obstacle. At the same time, they were the reason he wanted to get better, so after two months of isolation, Prompto had talked with his therapist and Cor, and asked Gelea to arrange a meeting between them.

He couldn't back out now, so he steeled himself and walked in.

Ignis' suite itself was surprisingly similar to Prompto's, if perhaps a bit more personally decorated, but after taking in the general layout of the place, his mind was drawn elsewhere. The others were all in the room, Noct sprawled on a sofa, phone in hand, while Ignis and Gladio conversed nearby. Though familiar, the scene felt a little stilted, like someone had just told the guys to act natural. Like someone _trying_ to act natural.

Prompto swallowed, staring at his friends, who were caught on the thin line of acknowledging his presence without staring back.

When he looked at his friends, he saw them. He saw Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis, not an impostor in their place. Still, cold sweat had broken out on his skin and Prompto knew he couldn't do this after all, couldn't face his friends, knew that this had all been a massive mistake – who had he been to think he was any better than he'd been before – choking on nothing, he quickly darted out of the room, Cor following a few steps behind him.

In the hallway, he broke down.

* * *

Later that evening, when the sun had set and his tears had dried, Prompto sat on his bed, a journal open his laps and multicolored markers strewn around him. He'd almost skipped the daily task of journaling his feelings like his therapist had asked him to do, wanting nothing more but to crawl into bed and sleep until a magical future were things were okay again.

He hadn't done it, which was probably a victory on its own, but he was also getting really tired of trying to pretend that these little achievements meant anything on the larger scale of things.

The diary part of his assignment was the easy bit, so Prompto scribbled down notes of everything he'd done that day, from the move to the unpacking to the mistake of wanting to see his friends. Dissecting his emotions, feelings, and motives was always the hard part, always the one thing to make him want to quit the journal, but somehow he persisted. Tears in his eyes – and that was him every day now, always crying about one thing or another – he told himself he had to do this, he had to get better, he had to persevere. He ignored the feeling of someone else standing in the room, watching him, ignored the lack of air in his lungs, and tried, tried so hard, even when the results were near nothing.

He wrote about missing his parents. He wrote about the dread he'd felt when the journalists and fans had began to gather outside his old apartment. He wrote about the empty rooms, the prints left on dusty surfaces, the furniture left waiting for people who'd most likely never return. He'd wanted to mail the letter to his parents, but he didn't have an address or even a current telephone number, so he hadn't been able to do that. The letter itself had been something he'd started thinking about as soon as he'd been asked whether he'd like to move to the Citadel on a more official capacity; by the time his therapist asked him about his parents, and the possibility of writing a letter as a form of closure, he'd already had the thing scetched out. He'd felt a little proud, somewhere far past the aching sense of emptiness.

The second assignment from his therapist was a list of goals. When she'd asked him about his aims, Prompto had followed Cor's advise and told her he didn't want to be afraid of his friends anymore. That was number one on his list, but she'd called it a very vague idea, and had asked him to try to come up with something more exact, something that could be easily crossed off the list.

Prompto looked around the suite, taking in the pile of chocobos partially visible from his bed. He couldn't see his books from the bedroom, but they had been placed on a single shelf in the study, like his clothes had been organized into the closet. One last box, the private one, waited in the study, but he wasn't sure if he'd unpack it. The Queen Estel Suite was filled with his personal items, but they felt just as out of place as he did.

Biting his lip, Prompto picked up the orange marker and turned to a new page in his journal. GOAL #4, he wrote in large letters at the top of the page, grabbing the red marker to draw a line around the page. Using the blue marker, he began writing inside the box.

_One day, I'm going to move out of the Citadel and into my own apartment, and my friends will be there to help me move. They'll help me pack, and Iggy's gonna cook us food to keep us going. Gladio will be shirtless and he'll carry everything heavy. I'll buy cheap furniture from TIKEA just to make Noct mad and complain. When everything's done, we'll order pizza and drink beer and they'll all be too tired to leave, so we'll have a sleepover, and I won't be afraid anymore._

The goal was maybe a bit too detailed, and the last sentence too abstract, but reading through the text made Prompto smile wistfully even as slow tears rolled down his cheeks. He closed the journal and cleaned away the markers, dumping them all on the nightstand. It was late, and when he curled under the blanket, he felt tired and ready for sleep. Blinking at Rosie, he only wished for his camera.


	8. Cor II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cor continues to watch over Prompto.

An emergency alarm at just past six in the morning was not Cor's favorite kind of a wake-up call, but in his line of work, it was nevertheless a regrettably frequent one. Having turned down an apartment in the Citadel proper, he lived in a suite above the barracks for this exact reason, so when he got the message about something being amiss with Prompto, he didn't hesitate before throwing on some clothes and running out of the door and past the training grounds. The air was crisp and cold, the ground covered by midnight frost that chrunched under his feet where the sun hadn't yet touched. He received worried glances from the day's first training class and their teacher alike, but paid them no mind. The Marshal of the Crownsguard running somewhere was a major cause of worry, after all, a possible sign of anything from the death of the King to the start of an another war, and everyone knew it. Their worries would soon be proved unnecessary, or at least Cor wished so.

Not for the first time in his life, Cor cursed the complex, maze-like depths of the Citadel. Had he taken the normal route, it would have taken him almost thirty minutes to run his way to the Queen Estel Suite; using one of the special elevators hidden in secret pathways, his journey was cut to five minutes, most of which he'd spent dashing through the training yards. In the case of a true emergency, those five minutes could have been the matter of life and death.

The general alarm system used a five-point scale of threat measurement, but the current guard at Prompto's door had labeled the situation as Level One. Upon reading the message – _LVL1/Cont., Queen Estel Suite/RRS3008, C. Leonis only_ – Cor had felt his heart skip a beat, but he'd also sighed in relief. The cause of the alert could be anything, but the fact that only his presence was being requested had put the worst of his worries at ease.

It wasn't the first of these alarms Cor had received. Most of the time when Prompto needed him, the blond was well enough to call him over on his own, and Cor would arrive to find him shaking and crying under the weight of his fears. Only one guard had ever had to resort to an emergency alarm; the morning after Prompto made the decision to not have surgery on his hand, he'd had his worst nightmare so far, rendering him a screaming, panicking mess stuck inside old memories.

When Cor finally reached the hallway to the suite, it was empty. He slowed down to a brisk walk, chest heaving and legs aching after the surprise sprint out of bed, and entered the room. At first glance, things seemed well enough; Prompto, still in his chocobo-print pyjamas, sat on the window seat between his plushie collection, head held low between his knees. He was twitchy, looking extremely nervous and agitated, but he also had no visible injuries. The guard turned to Cor with a befuddled expression and shrugged. Cor stared at him.

”He was panicking,” the guard explained in a low voice, ”heard him scream and freak out. Think he had a panic attack or something, but my presence didn't feel too welcome so I thought it best to wait for you, sir.”

Cor nodded and dismissed the guard, who left without a word. He walked over to Prompto and knelt before him, taking hold of the blond's trembling hands. The skin was cold and clammy under his fingers, and up close, Cor could see strands of golden hair plastered against a sweaty forehead. Prompto was sniffling a little, obviously terrified out of his mind, but he glanced up at Cor and sought eye contact before turning away once more. He was conscious, then, responsive; a small sign of something better.

”Hi there, kid,” Cor murmured. ”Did something happen?”

A desperate whine was all that the blond seemed capable of. Prompto shook his head from side to side and clutched at Cor's hands like a man lost at sea.

”Do you need your pills?” A nod. ”Okay, I'll go get them. Wait here, I'll be right back.”

Cor stood up slowly, waiting to see whether the other was willing to let him go or not. When Prompto didn't resist – only looked at him with impossibly wide eyes – he made quick work of retrieving a glass of water and one pill, already familiar with the contents of all the bottles and boxes. Prompto accepted both the drink and the medication, and though his hands were shaky, he wasted no time in swallowing the pill. After gulping down almost half of the water, Cor noticed that Prompto was staring past him towards the miniature apothecary. His face was pale and lifeless, but it seemed to Cor that the panic attack was more or less over.

”Do you want your morning dose too?” he asked. Coupled with the exhaustion apparent in Prompto's expression, the first pill would be enough to knock him out as soon as the blond was comfortable enough to let his walls down. Prompto nodded his head, still not verbal, and Cor returned to the medicine bottles. Consulting the list on the table, he gathered a small handful of pills, double-checking to make sure he was correct. He had to refill the glass once before Prompto was finished, and after returning it to the side table, he sat on the window seat next to Prompto and put his arm around the blond's shoulders. A few more minutes, and the shoulders stopped shaking; a moment more, and his face was beginning to look hazy.

Prompto looked up at Cor with a short, aborted sound, speech still too difficult for him. ”Everything okay? Do you need something?”

There was no reply. Instead, Prompto latched onto his arm and seconds later, he was being dragged towards the bedroom. Cor cast a critical eye around the rooms but saw nothing wrong; the bed looked like Prompto had gotten up in a hurry, but other than that, everything was the same as the day before.

”Look!” Prompto whispered, pointing at his bedside table. Despite the medications, he was beginning to panic again, causing Cor to frown in worry. ”Look!”

At first, Cor had glanced past the items, the sight of them so familiar they barely registered in his mind. Then, a second later, realization hit and he found himself actually freezing up on the spot, too bewildered to do much else than stare. ”Is that...” Cor began, searching for the words waiting at the tip of his tongue, ”is that your camera?”

It wasn't just the camera, old and battered, but the camera bag as well, green and decorated with various patches and a handful of colorful chocobo keychains. Cor had seen both items often enough to recognize them immediately, but the sight of them was also enough to explain Prompto's freak-out; after all, both the camera and its bag were supposed to be in the Armiger, lost along the crystal's magic.

The death of the magic had been the consequence of the death of the Accursed. To Prompto, who already had troubles believing Izunia's death, the return of the camera most likely signaled the return of his worst nightmare. The Astrals couldn't be so cruel, could they?

Cor swallowed and tried to summon his sword; nothing happened. Prompto was crying openly now, fingers digging deep into the flesh of Cor's forearm. ”Okay,” Cor breathed out. He walked Prompto to the settee next to the wardrobe and sat him down, holding onto the blond with both hands. ”Let's get you calmed down, first.”

Prompto shook his head and looked up at Cor, his eyes red and soaked with tears. ”He's coming back,” the blond cried, desperate and terrified. ”He's not dead, I knew he's not dead, oh Gods help me Cor I can't do this–”

The pleas turned into sobs. Cor sat down next to the crying blonde and held onto him while trying to think of something good to say, something helpful, something that might actually put Prompto's mind at ease; he came up with nothing. ”Alright, alright,” he soothed instead, trying to find a comforting tone. ”It's just you and me in this suite, kid, no-one else. I don't know how your camera got here, but I do know that I still can't access the Armiger, so the crystal's magic hasn't come back either. Both Noctis and Princess Lunafreya have confirmed the Accursed's death, too, and I think that's something the Oracle would definitely know for sure.”

Prompto was a sobbing mess under Cor's left arm, but at least the words hadn't made the situation any worse. It took a moment of hushing and back-rubbing before the blond began to calm down, but in a way, Cor understood; he'd seen the look of intense terror on Prompto's face. He'd never experience anything akin to what Prompto had gone through at Izunia's hand, yet he'd heard more than enough whispers about the man's disposition to know that even without his illusions, Izunia had been one of the most depraved men to ever walk on Eos. He'd left scars that went far deeper than the cuts on the surface of Prompto's skin, and the reappearance of the blond's most treasured camera had torn each and every scar wide open.

Cor sighed, still staring at the camera sitting innocently on the bedside table. Next to him, Prompto had stopped crying and was wiping the tears from his face. ”Are you feeling a bit better now?” Cor asked, smiling when the other nodded his head hesitantly. ”Is there anything you'd like me to do for you?”

”I dunno,” Prompto whispered, shrugging his drooping shoulders. He, too, had returned to staring at the camera.

”Would it help if I took the camera away from here?” Cor asked. ”Maybe to my office? Or would you rather keep it here?”

For a while, Prompto kept silent. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet and wavering, but the earlier fear and agitation were nearly gone. ”Could you take it somewhere?” he pleaded softly, twiddling with the hem of his shirt. ”Somewhere – away from me.”

Cor nodded. ”I have a safe in my office that I think would be perfect for this, what do you think?”

”That's okay.”

”Right. Do you mind if I take a look?”

Prompto shook his head and Cor stood up, dusting off his pants before walking up the bed and the table. Up close, he could see several new scratches on both the camera and the bag; one of the chocobo keychains – they all belonged to the same line of collectibles – was missing a wing and the stitching on the patches was coming loose. Glancing at Prompto, who was twisting his hands anxiously, Cor picked up the camera and turned it on.

The battery was almost full, and despite the dust collecting on the black plastic casing, the camera seemed fully operational. Cor pulled up the recent pictures, expecting something from Altissia – based on the timeline they had sketched together, there would have been more than enough time for Prompto to go on a photographing spree. Cor himself had only been to Altissia twice in his life, but he still remembered the architecture and the smell of salt in the air.

Only years and years of working for the crown kept Cor's face carefully blank when he saw the last picture taken on the camera. Cautious, he glanced at Prompto once more, relieved to see that the other hadn't noticed anything wrong with him. Cursing the Astrals and Izunia both, Cor eyed the picture – Prompto, shirtless and bloodied, strapped on a large metal cross. He held no doubts about who had taken the picture and rage boiled deep within him as he thought of Izunia playing around with Prompto's camera. There was only one possible reason for Izunia to have taken this picture, and that was to hurt Prompto.

Cor didn't even want to imagine what the situation would have been like had Prompto been the one to turn the camera on. Continuing to fake his calm, he pressed down on one of the arrow buttons, finding more pictures of Prompto with varying injuries; sometimes the blond was crumbled on the floor, broken and dripping blood, othertimes he was hanging from the same cross or locked inside one of the pods used to store MT units. Cor swallowed, disgusted.

In one of the pictures, Prompto lied at the foot of the Imperial Throne, a drop of white in an otherwise dark room. It was a good picture, too, Cor thought idly, doing his best to distance himself from his inner rage, with a ray of light cutting the scene in half, brighting up a trail from the carpeted floor to Prompto's face, across the throne and the wall behind it. It looked like something that belonged in an art gallery or a museum, or the cover of a fantasy film.

It was disgusting, and when he finally found the last of Prompto's own photographs, it was a simple picture of a canal disappearing into the dephts of Altissia. Stunning, in its own way, but completely normal and ordinary in another.

”Well, everything looks good to me,” Cor said eventually. He turned off the camera and picked up the bag, taking them to the living area before returning to Prompto. The items couldn't be seen from the settee, where Prompto still sat, eyes beginning to droop, though the blond looked like he was trying his best to resist sleep. ”Is there anything else that's worrying you?”

Prompto shrugged. ”Not really,” he answered, but the look in his eyes told Cor he was lying. The blond licked his lips, eyes shifting to the side, and Cor sighed.

”Wanna try again?” he asked, frowning.

”It's nothing I'd need to talk about,” Prompto said, which meant that he didn't want to sound like he was complaining. Cor sighed, again, and pinched the bridge of his nose. ”Really, I swear.”

”Right. I don't believe that the last bit, but at least tell me this: is it safe for me to leave you alone?”

It was Prompto's turn to sigh. Cor stared down at him, taking in the lethargic eyes and the tired pinch to his lips. ”I'm good, really, Cor,” the blond promised quietly. ”I'm fine.”

He wasn't fine – an ugly voice at the back of Cor's head pointed out that Prompto probably wouldn't be fine ever again – but true to his word, he didn't appear to be struggling any more than he normally did, so Cor decided to let it go. He helped Prompto to his feet and guided him to the bed, careful to not let the other fall over. Prompto didn't need help getting under the covers, kicking his feet and pulling at the blanket until it rested just under his chin.

”Alright, last change,” Cor said. ”If you want to tell me what's bothering you, I'll listen. If not, I'll go and get to the bottom of this camera business. Your choice.”

For a moment he was sure that Prompto still wouldn't talk to him, but to his surprise, the blond reached out and tugged at his shirt sleeve till he sat down on edge of the bed. Cor didn't know if it was the medication or the approaching sleep, or if the other was actually that comfortable letting out his sorrows, but either way, Cor's heart warmed a touch.

”It's just,” Prompto began, hesitating. ”It's just. You remember when, when I first enlisted? When I started training?”

Cor did remember. A small man with golden hair and blue eyes, both a sign of foreign birth; a man with no name to himself, no connections, nothing but a friendship with the prince and his retinue, and thus the accusations of favoritism. Cor thought back to how Prompto had been treated by his fellow guards, how hard it had been to cut down the xenophobia growing in the force, and realized he'd made a mistake.

”Shit, Prompto, I didn't even think,” Cor admitted, ready to kick his own ass for his mistake. ”Have they been giving you shit again?”

During training, Prompto had been ostracized and isolated, harassed beyond simple hazing, yet through it all, he never spoke a word. The secret of his abysmal treatment didn't come out until a couple weeks before he was set to finish his training, which had coincided with the announcement of Noctis' marriage to Lunafreya and the fast-spreading bit of rumor that Prompto had been chosen to accompany the prince all the way to Altissia.

It had been a mess, and by the time Cor had found out, it had been almost too late to deal with the situation.

Between the fulfillment of the prophesy and the death of Iedolas and his army, Cor had been so busy he'd forgotten about the anti-Niff sentiment rising within their ranks, and he hated himself for it.

”It's not really that bad,” Prompto whispered, the words a true sign of him lying, ”but sometimes, when they're supposed to take to the medical or somewhere else, they'll lead me to some other route and past a lot of people who all stare at me. And – they haven't really said anything about things, but after everything, I don't – I don't really feel. Safe. Here. You know. Cause I don't feel I can trust them.”

Cor bit back a curse. He had worked so hard with all of Prompto's doctors and the staff to make sure that the blond had somewhere he could feel safe, if not at home, and his own inattentiveness had left a massive hole in the plan. It had been clear from the get-go that Prompto needed a sense of security around him, and then Cor had gone and built him a guard consisting of the same xenophobic assholes that had done their best to drive him out of the Crownsguard. No – the majority of those people had been dealth with before the world threatened to fall apart, and if he remembered correctly – and it was his job to remember things like these – none of the people assigned to Prompto had been involved in his bullying.

Insomnia was not a kind place for foreigners, refugees, or immigrants, and people with roots in the Empire were loathed the worst of all.

”Right,” Cor murmured, leaning his head against his palms. ”I'm going to fix this. The way I see this, we're not gonna find a lot of suitable people in the Crownsguard, which probably makes me a shitty boss, and I apologize for that. So, the two most obvious options are either to skip the guard entirely, or to ask the Glaives for some help.”

Unlike the Crownsguard, the Glaives had taken Prompto under their wing right off the bat. The blond seemed to perk up at the mention of the Kingsglaive, though he also appeared too hesitant to speak up. Cor smiled. ”I'm sure you've heard that the Glaives are pretty much out of work due to everything you and your friends got up to,” he said. It wasn't the most exact explanation of everything that had gone down in Insomnia during the three months the boys had been gone, but Cor knew that Prompto had been reading enough news to get a full picture of the situation. ”If it makes you feel safer, then Drautos won't mind loaning a few of his men, especially as they have nothing else to do these days. Would that be okay, a Glaive at your door?”

”Yeah.” Prompto yawned. ”I think I'm gonna sleep now.”

And sleep he did.

* * *

**Cor (7:12 a.m.):** time for a meeting sometime today? us, regis, noctis, maybe ignis and gladio. may need to consult lunafreya  
**Clarus (7:17 a.m.):** 7:45-8:15 or 10:30-12:00  
**Cor (7:18 a.m.):** latter, it's most likely going to be a long meeting  
**Clarus (7:21 a.m.):** Reggie's formal office, 10:30 sharp.  
**Clarus (7:22 a.m.):** Will you tell me what's the reason? I must admit I'm curious, especially if you feel the need to involve Lunafreya...  
**Cor (7:24 a.m.):** prompto pulled his camera out of the armiger last night  
**Clarus (7:25 a.m.):** This keyboard does not have the means to express my confusion.  
**Cor (7:25 a.m.):** tell me about it

* * *

After locking the camera and the bag in the safe in his office, Cor stepped into the elevator and headed downstairs. The lowest floors of the wing facing the training grounds and the barracks were used by both the Crownsguard and the Kingsglaive, though both the offices and any common areas were located on different floors. When the elevator pinged for the second time, Cor exited it, immediately noticing how empty the corridor was; at half past seven in the morning, the Crownsguards were all coming in for the day's work or training, and the hallways around his office were bustling with life. Here, two floors down, it was quiet as at a cemetery, hardly a person in sight.

It hadn't always been like this, Cor thought as he wandered down the corridors towards Drautos' office. The last few months had brought with them an unimaginable amount of changes, starting from the tentative peace and ending with the independence of all nations previously conquered by the Empire. While a handful of Glaives still patrolled the Lucian borders, there was no longer any armies for them to fight, and therefore very little work left to do; one of the day's hottest debates was the fate of the entire Kingsglaive, some suggesting a merge with the Crownsguard, some demanding the abolishment of the force.

As soon as the war was declared ended, many Glaives had turned in their resignations and left to rebuild their homes; the King saw no fault in that, but the anti-refugee faction did. Almost all the others were requesting leaves of absence, and as a combined result of everything, there were very few Glaives left in the Citadel. Those who showed up did so for the company, or to train, all the while waiting to hear the news of their futures. It was an awful situation for everyone involved, Cor knew, and if he knew the council at all, it wasn't about the get absolved anytime soon.

He found Drautos on the hallway outside the Captain's office, the man himself just exiting the room, looking exactly as grim as he remembered. ”Drautos,” he greeted the man, marching up to him. ”Do you have a moment?”

Drautos nodded. ”My paperwork is not going to disappear if I take a little break, as fortunate as that would be.” He locked the door and turned to Cor, smirking faintly. ”How can I help, Leonis?”

It hadn't been an easy year for anyone involved first in the talks of the peace treaty, then the aftermath when everything first fell apart, only to end recover in a manner best described as a miracle. Unbeknownst to Cor, Drautos had been acting as a double spy on Regis' orders, infiltrating the Nifflheim army to the point where he was promoted to a general. When it all came out, it had been a shock to hear that one of his closest co-workers – not friends, thankfully – was, in fact, the infamous General Glauca, a true monster who left nothing but fire and death in his wake. Cor would never forget the King's speech on the matter; ”it is not that General Glauca is Titus Drautos, but that Titus Drautos is General Glauca.”

Afterwards, during a private meeting, Regis had apologized to Cor for keeping him the dark and admitted that it was most likely all thanks to Drautos that Insomnia hadn't been invaded by the Empire. Drautos had, the King explained, warned him of a machine built to interrupt the crystal's magic, the purpose of which could only have meant one thing only. It was Drautos who had suggested that instead of Regis and Iedolas signing the peace treaty in Insomnia, Noctis would act as the representative of the crown and finish the signing in Altissia after he completed the requirements by marrying Lunafreya. It hadn't happened, of course, but the changes to the treaty signing had been enough to give the Empire no reason to approach Insomnia, and by some miracle, they had decided not to attack either.

It was dizzying how close to crumbling things had gotten, and for the most part, Cor had been none the wiser.

”I need to borrow some Glaives for guard duty,” he explained, following as Drautos began to walk away.

”Ah, I see. How many of my remaining men do you need?”

”A single guard, around the clock for the time being.”

Drautos glanced at Cor and steered him towards the elevators. ”Argentum, then.”

Cor nodded. Despite the past events and the calls for Drautos' resignation, Regis had chosen to keep him eployed, and Cor knew that the man had been briefed on the matter of Prompto's status, though the information shared was minimal and superficial at best.

”Is there a reason your own soldiers aren't good enough for the job?” Drautos asked. They arrived at the elevators and he reached for the control panel, calling in a carriage.

”Just the usual xenophobia issue rearing its head,” Cor replied, scowling. ”Hard to feel safe when you're guarded by people who'd probably drink to your death.”

Drautos hummed but said nothing. They stepped into the elevator carriage, empty of others. ”Was it Izunia?”

Cor glanced at the other man, seeing the tight expression and knowing deep in his bones that of all the people in the Citadel, Drautos was possibly the only one to truly understand the nightmare that Prompto had faced. ”Yes,” Cor admitted. ”For five weeks.”

The elevator stopped and they exited it, Drautos silent as they walked down the corridor. ”And he survived?” he asked eventually, more quiet than Cor had ever heard him before.

”Yes.”

Another beat of silence before Drautos nodded, opening a door to a room where a group of Glaives appeared to be playing cards. ”Impressive,” was all he said. Next to him, Cor smiled.

”Yes.”


	9. Noctis II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world is at peace, yet Noctis continues to worry.

It was never a good thing when a meeting appeared out of thin air; it was even worse when the meeting was important enough to cause other appointments to be shuffled around. When Noctis first saw his updated schedule, he called Gelea to ask her what it was about. She didn't know, but she told him Ignis would also be attenting, so Noctis called him instead. Ignis didn't know either, though based on the short list of people attending the meeting, he assumed it was something about Prompto.

A sudden meeting with his father, Clarus, Cor, Ignis, and Gladio. When all the information Noctis was able to glean amounted to 'something about Prompto, probably,' it didn't exactly fill him with confidence, especially after the previous day's incident. Noctis had been looking forward to meeting Prompto so badly, but at the same time, he'd felt little else but apprehension in his guts. The meeting had been a disaster, no other word for it, and Noctis was slowly starting to lose hope. Last night, his dreams had been filled with a dozen Promptos, all running away from him like shadows on a sunny day, all wearing faces twisted into expressions of terror and grief. Noctis hadn't slept well, and for the first time since Ardyn, he napped through sunrise.

A few minutes shy of the arranged meeting time, Noctis nodded at his father's secretary and walked past her into the formal office, noticing that he was the last one to arrive. To his relief, no-one looked particularly worried or upset; if anything, the expressions ranged from confusion to amazement.

”Ah, Noctis,” Regis greeted him, nodding towards an empty chair between Ignis and Gladio. ”Please, take a seat. Princess Lunafreya will be joining us in a moment, though I suppose we can start without her as I've already let her know the gist of the issue.”

Noctis blinked, only now noticing the large screen that was usually covered by a large painting of a lily-covered pond. The screen was turned on, but remained blank, still disconnected; his father had a laptop open on his desk and the screen's remote controller next to it.

”Luna?” he asked, bewildered. ”I'm sorry, what is this meeting about again?”

Regis chuckled, Clarus joining him for a chortled laugh. Noctis looked at Gladio, who could only shrug. ”Don't look at me, I don't know.”

”Perhaps Cor ough to explain, since he was actually there this morning,” Regis said, smiling deviously.

Cor sighed. ”Sometime during last night, Prompto summoned his camera from the Armiger.”

Noctis was floored. Utterly, completely, unabashedly floored. He looked around the room, from his father and Clarus – both of them still smiling – to Cor and Gladio, and then finally Ignis, trying to make sense of what he'd just heard. Without even realizing, he'd reached to rub his chest where Ardyn's sword had pierced him. Next to him, Ignis was frowning. The prophecy connected the crystal and Ardyn with an unbreakable bond, one unable to exist without the other, the death of one the end of the other. Noctis remembered, and was filled with numb horror.

”But he's dead,” Noctis murmured, the ghost of an ache in his heart. ”No, he's dead, I know that. He's dead.”

When he looked up, he saw that Regis was still smiling, though he seemed sadder than before. Noctis let his hand drop to his lap just as Gladio reached over to pat his thigh. Then, before anyone could say anything further, there was a quiet ping coming from Regis' laptop and everyone's attention turned back to the King.

”Ah, there she is,” Regis murmured, glancing at the screen. His mouse clicked loudly when he worked, but a moment later, the screen flickered to life and Noctis found himself looking at Luna for the first time since June. She looked good, he thought, a lot better than all those months before, and Noctis had a feeling that there was more to her healing than just the ordinary post-war recovery. In Altissia, she'd been bruised and tired, but the worst of her wounds had been a broken wrist, easily mended with a splint and a potion. Now, when she smiled, her usually serene face shone with a new kind of happiness, one that warmed Noctis' heart and made him smile in turn.

”Good morning, Lunafreya,” Regis greeted her. ”How fares Tenebrae?”

”Very well, thank you,” Luna replied. Her voice was staticky and a little distorted at times, though Noctis had expected as much; the mountainous landscape tended to interfere with the signals, plus most of Tenebraean technology was more than a few years past its prime thanks to the Imperial invasion. ”The winter feels colder than usual, though I hear it's even worse up in Gralea. But enough of that; I'm afraid my schedule is a bit tight, and I understand we have important business to discuss.”

Regis nodded. ”Yes, that is true. It is perhaps an issue we have already debated before, but new things have come up.” He glanced at Cor as he spoke. ”Last night, young Prompto summoned his camera, which was one of the items lost to the Armiger as our magic died.”

To Noctis' surprise, Luna didn't appear shocked, or even thoughtful. She simply dipped her head in acknowledgement of the words spoken and leaned forward to rest her chin on her hands. ”That's certainly interesting,” she said. ”I had not expected to hear that the crystal's magic would be making its return in any form. Is Prompto able to display any other skills, or...?”

”This was the first time, Highness,” Cor spoke up. ”No-one else has been able to access the Armiger either, and in Prompto's case, it appears to have been accidental as the camera appeared while he was asleep.”

Noctis grimaced, suddenly realizing that waking up to the camera would most likely have set off all of Prompto's fears and paranoias. Before anyone else could speak up, however, he cut in with a question of his own. ”Luna, what do you mean, you weren't expecting this? It sounded like you'd been expecting _something_ to happen?”

Luna smiled. ”Yes, that is correct. Though the prophecy is fulfillen – and that is certain – the Six are not yet gone from this world. They will leave when you and I do, Noctis, along the Chosen King and the last of the Oracles.” Her smile didn't waver, but somehow she looked sadder as she spoke. ”Of course, there are other gods to fill their spaces when they finally leave – Eos and Etro, naturally, but also the messengers and other lesser deities. I... I cannot truly explain how I know this, but the magic has dispersed into the air, the seas, the earth beneath our feet... It has returned to where it came from, and from knowing this, I know also that the magic of the Astrals is likely to one day become the magic of the world, including the humans who populate it. _That_ is why it does not surprise me to hear that someone has accessed a bit of magic, even if the manner is a bit unexpected, as is the speed at which it already occurred.”

She stopped speaking and silence fell to the room as everyone became lost in their thoughts. Noctis didn't know what to think of Luna's words; on one hand, a world filled with new kinds of magics sounded like something out of a fairytale, a post-apocalyptical miracle, but on the other... The Lucis Caelums had been gifted the crystal in exchange for governance, and in return, they had sacrificed a king after another to guard the people of Lucis from darkness and enemies alike. Noctis frowned and glanced around the room, knowing at once he wasn't the only one thinking about the future of his blood.

”Have you heard about anyone else using magic?” Luna asked after a moment. ”There's a rumor going around the staff regarding unusual plant behavior in the winter gardens, but unfortunately I have no proof of such things actually occurring.”

”No, this is a first as far I know,” Regis replied. ”I'll be sure to let you know if the situation changes. In any case, we merely wanted to hear on your opinion on last night's events, just to confirm that the Accursed is indeed gone from this realm.”

”Of course, Your Majesty,” Luna said, nodding. ”He has passed and without Astral interference, there is no way for him to return. This is certain. However, unless you are not in hurry, there is a topic I've been wanting to talk to you about...”

She trailed off, looking sheepish, and Noctis glanced around the room. No-one appeared to be in a hurry to leave, though Cor and Clarus both checked their phones, and soon Regis nodded before turning to face Luna. ”Of course, my dear. What is it that you're wondering about?”

”With winter here and the end of the year approaching,” Luna began; Noctis couldn't yet tell where she was heading with this, but next to him, Ignis let out a soft 'ah' in understanding. ”I have been wondering if I should host a proper Cosmogony celebration, in honor of the peace that has fallen over our world. However, since the Astrals are already leaving, I am unsure if there is a point in holding a festival in their name.”

Noctis had forgotten about Cosmogony, but in his defense, Tenebrae hadn't hosted the celebrations since he was a child. It was customary for the Oracle to organize the seven-day festival leading to the new year, but after the imperials had claimed Queen Sylva's life, the tradition had ceased. Though the world still celebrated, Luna had never led the ceremonies of worship, had never been allowed to pray on behalf of the entire world. Noctis didn't know how she felt about it, if she regretted or grieved over it, but he suddenly understood the weight of her previous comment on being the last Oracle.

Her healing powers had to have disappeared along the crystal, as well as her ability to convene with the messengers. Her children, if she ever had any, would never know the duty of their precedessors.

”The people still believe in the Six and pray to them,” Ignis mused. ”Though the Astrals themselves may be halfway gone from this world, their presence is still felt in everyday life.”

”Yes...” Regis agreed slowly. ”That is true. Etro and Eos have been gone for centuries, if not millennias, yet their names are still evoked on an occasion, especially that of Etro. It will be a long time before the Six are truly gone from this world, both as beings and as memories, and until then... I see no reason to stop a perfectly good tradition.”

Luna laughed at that, a little smile returning to her face. ”Thank you, truly,” she said, ”you have put my mind at easy. My brother spoke to me the same words as you have, but I suppose I was a bit too unsure over the issue to hear him speak.”

”And how is he?” Clarus spoke up. ”We have not received as many news as I'd expect to receive in this day and age, but what we do know puts my mind at ease.”

”Yes, I'm afraid our technology is still too far behind,” Luna agreed. ”Ravus has only just signed off the last plans to expand the electric network to even the most remote villages, which were cut off under Iedolas' rule. The new Empress has offered her help in re-establishing a functional infrastructure, but _their_ inventions are not yet compatible with the rest of the world, so it is a bit problematic. Our country is healing, but it is so very slow still.”

Noctis nodded along as Luna spoke, thinking of everything he knew about Tenebrae. Before the invasion, the country had been small but flourishing, people spread out into several communities from the mountains and valleys to the shorelines, but under Iedolas' rule, people were forced to relocate into larger cities – for easier surveillance, most likely. The Empress was doing her best to become the exact opposite of her precedessor, sharing wealth and manpower with every community that had felt the edge of Iedolas' sword. It didn't matter to her whether the people she helped were hers or foreigners, she offered them all she had, and in doing so, she had quickly won the world's favor. It wasn't just Lucis and Tenebrae that were being rebuild, but Nifflheim, Galahd, Accordo, Eos. At first, people had been suspicious of the new developments – rightfully so, Regis said in yet another speech – but as summer turned to autumn turned to winter, opinions changed.

Eos had reached world peace, was the general concensus amongst the people. Noctis, raised from birth to remain pragmatic rather than hopeful, was beginning to believe the same.

* * *

**Noctis (11:49 a.m.):** hey prom  
**Noctis (11:51 a.m.):** i heard about this morning. we just had a meeting about it with luna and i just wanted to tell u that ardyn's gone for good, i can feel it. he's gone and not coming back, okay? cor's probably gonna tell u the rest but basically luna said that the magic has spread over the entire world and random people picking up new skills should probably be expected???  
**Noctis (11:53 a.m.):** idk man it's all pretty much just speculation at this point but yeah i guess the point is that there's no need to worry about ardyn coming back, it's not gonna happen  
**Noctis (11:58 a.m.):** (also i'm like really looking forward to seeing all the pics u took but u can ignore this if u wanna)

After a long moment of no respose, Noctis sighed and let the phone screen fade to black. He wasn't really expecting an immediate reply from Prompto, not really, but everything about the situation just sucked. Ignis may have had a more eloquont word for the feeling, but Noctis was more than satisfied with simply calling it sucky. He speared a roasted fingerling potato with his fork and idly brought it to his mouth, gazing towards the windows of his own, private dining area. Prompto was either eating his own lunch a few floors beneath him, in the Rogue Queen's suite, or out in the gardens walking with Cor. Noctis wanted to be there next to him, but knew his wishes impossible. The previous night had proved as much.

Munching on a flaky piece of salmon, Noctis thought about things. The camera, the crystal, the possibility of Prompto being one of the first humans to gain his own kind of magic. Luna and Ravus, rebuilding Tenebrae back to its former glory, refugees and immigrants returning to their own homes all across Eos. There was so much going on in the world, but for the first time in his life, Noctis found his personal matters much more pressing than the general state of the word.

Prompto was struggling, still. Noctis had known better than to expect a miracle recovery, yet at the same time, waiting and waiting with no promises of an eventual reunion was beginning to tire him out. Gladio and Ignis, at least, were slowly getting better with their own issues, but Noctis was too disheartened to find much joy in that alone. He'd taken to avoiding situations where the three of them were together, simply because he couldn't bear the hole left behind by Prompto. Noctis knew he was beginning to slip back into the pre-Ardyn melancholy and lethargy, because that's how his life was structured now, before and after Ardyn, and he was willing to bet a lot of gil on not being the only one. Even Gelea had noticed, and she didn't even know him that well, not personally.

Done with his lunch – even most of the vegetables, only the artichoke things left on the plate – Noctis leaned back in his chair. It was snowing outside, soft and gentle, the first snowfall of the year only a thin layer of white fluff covering the ground; it was too early and the snow would melt by the next morning. Noctis stood up and walked over to the window, peering down in a feeble attempt to see the people in the gardens and the training grounds. His rooms were far too high for him to see much, but the ground was white around the driveways and little black dots patrolled along their own routes.

In a matter of a couple weeks, Noctis would be travelling to Tenebrae. Gladio and Ignis would be there alongside him, but while Prompto had received the most heartfelt invitation from both Luna and Ravus, it was unclear if he'd be able to make the journey, especially as Cor would be too busy to travel along. Noctis pressed his forehead against the cool glass, trying to squish his jealousy. Prompto needed someone, and if that someone was Cor, then so be it. He had no right for envy and selfishness when his best friend was trying to keep his mind from falling apart. He was an awful friend, wanting so much – Noctis sighed, stopped. Blinked slowly and continued staring at the Citadel grounds.

He'd be a bit early for the fittings, but before anything else, he'd have Gelea book him appointments with his physician and therapist.

* * *

By the time Prompto finally replied to the texts, Noctis had almost forgotten about them thanks to the busy hours of okaying suit designs and nodding along to whatever conversations people were having around him. He'd stopped working just before dinner, which he shared with his father, Clarus, and Gladio, and which _still_ hadn't been as casual and carefree an occasion as it should've been. Though better than before, Gladio still wasn't okay, anxious insecurities hiding just beneath the surface of his wide grin, and Noctis had began to wonder if any of them would ever be truly fine after everything that had happened.

Still, when his phone began vibrating and kweh-ing on the hardwood sofa table, Noctis barely avoided rolling onto the floor in his haste to get to it. He almost threw his book away and grasped the now-still phone before plopping back to the couch he'd been laying on. The screen lit up and Noctis glanced first at the clock in the middle of the screen, then at the windows, seeing nothing but a pitch-black sky behind the glass. It was late, now that he realized it; he probably should've been to bed already.

**Prompto (11:13 p.m.):** ...hi  
**Noctis (11:13 p.m.):** hi!!!  
**Noctis (11:13 p.m.):** [chocobo sticker]  
**Prompto (11:14 p.m.):** <3  
**Prompto (11:15 p.m.):** so i hear ur going to tenebrae??  
**Noctis (11:15 p.m.):** yea for cosmogony stuff  
**Noctis (11:16 p.m.):** ur not coming then? [sad face]  
**Prompto (11:16 p.m.):** yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah bout that  
**Prompto (11:17 p.m.):** no?? like i can't even be in the same room as you guys  
**Prompto (11:18 p.m.):** like i'm really sorry about yesterday, i thought i could do it but i guess i should've learned my lesson by now (ノ^∇^)ノ

Noctis frowned at the screen, a sick feeling spreading in his guts.

**Noctis (11:19 p.m.):** prom honestly its okay  
**Prompto (11:20 p.m.):** like what kind of an idiot suggests a meeting when he can't even talk to his friends over the phone??? me that's who, i'm the idiot  
**Noctis (11:20 p.m.):** do u want me to call cor over or something?? im getting kinda worried here [frowny face]  
**Prompto (11:21 p.m.):** naaaah i'm fine, really  
**Prompto (11:22 p.m.):** sorry (｡•́︿•̀｡)

The more he stared at the texts, the more worried Noctis grew. He knew that Prompto was prone to bouts of really low self-esteem – he'd talked him through more than a few of those – but something about the tone of the messages left him on the edge. Frowning, Noctis glanced at the clock once more, thinking; Cor was likely sleeping, and while he wouldn't mind being waken up for something like this, Noctis didn't feel right calling him in over what was just a tiny little hunch.

None of the doctors had been worried about the possibility of Prompto hurting himself, Noctis recalled, thinking. His palms were sweaty. He wanted to run to Prompto's room and see the blond with his own eyes.

**Noctis (11:24 p.m.):** are u really?  
**Prompto (11:25 p.m.):** i know my word doesn't mean much these days, but i'm not going to do anything stupid if that's what you're worried about

The words should have brought a sense of relief with them, but instead Noctis found himself feeling tired, utterly exhausted, heartbreak shadowing everything else. Still, before he could stop himself, his lips spilled a quick thanks to Shiva.

**Noctis (11:26 p.m.):** i just worry so much these days  
**Noctis (11:27 p.m.):** you, iggy, gladio, i'm thinking about all three of u and everything u did for me, and how it feels like there's nothing i can do to help any of u  
**Noctis (11:27 p.m.):** except maybe ignis  
**Prompto (11:28 p.m.):** yeah  
**Prompto (11:28 p.m.):** i just miss you guys so much you know???  
**Prompto (11:29 p.m.):** like my birthday's in less than ten days and all i'm thinking is how i'm gonna have to spend it alone, AGAIN, because i'm too dipshit crazy to handle my best friends  
**Prompto (11:31 p.m.):** i honestly thought i could handle meeting you guys. i didn't think i'd be 100% okay with it, but i thought i could do it  
**Prompto (11:32 p.m.):** i don't want to be afraid of you anymore

Noctis stared at the phone, the prickle of tears in the corners of his eyes, and cursed Ardyn for taking his best friend from him.

**Prompto (11:33 p.m.):** (also since the bday thing came up, i don't wanna celebrate this year okay? like if someone wishes me well that's one thing, but i don't want anything else this year, please)

Noctis closed his eyes, breathed. When he opened them again, the tears were gone, but the pressure was still building behind his eyeballs.

**Noctis (11:34 p.m.):** that's okay  
**Noctis (11:34 p.m.):** can i call u?

It took a long while for Prompto to answer. Noctis was unable to take his eyes off the screen, tapping it with his thumb every time it began to darken. His heart was beating fast and loud, a steady rhythm pulsating against his ribcage.

**Prompto (11:38 p.m.):** not tonight  
**Prompto (11:39 p.m.):** i'm sorry but its been a really long two days and i'm feeling like shit even though i already took my meds, and i really wanna be able to sleep tonight  
**Noctis (11:40 p.m.):** it's okay!! it was just a dumb idea  
**Prompto (11:41 p.m.):** no!! i want to talk to you so bad, you have no idea how much i miss you and the guys, but tonight is not a good time  
**Prompto (11:42 p.m.):** maybe we could try tomorrow?  
**Prompto (11:42 p.m.):** if i don't chicken out ofc ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Noctis sighed.

**Noctis (11:43 p.m.):** i'd like that.  
**Prompto (11:44 p.m.):** yeah?  
**Noctis (11:45 p.m.):** yeah  
**Noctis (11:45 p.m.):** you're my best friend prompto  
**Prompto (11:46 p.m.):** ≧◡≦  
**Prompto (11:47 p.m.):** okay but i really gotta get to bed before i pass out lmao night sleepy prince  <3  
**Prompto (11:48 p.m.):** (i think libertus is on duty for another ten minutes or so if you're really that worried)  
**Noctis (11:49 p.m.):** good night chocobo butt, give rosy rosie a kiss from me [kissy face]  
**Prompto (11:49 p.m.):** yah  <3

The little green dot next to Prompto's name faded to a dull red and Noctis found himself smiling even as fat tears rolled down his face. The conversation had managed to drive away the worst of his worries, reminding him that even though they couldn't yet meet face-to-face, his best friend still existed there somewhere. Nevertheless, permission had been given and so he didn't waste time in searching his contacts for Ostium, Libertus; KG.


	10. Nyx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyx works and waits, works and waits.

November was a cold month in Insomnia, the air crispy throughout the day and downright chilling at night. It would only get worse, too, all the way till early March, the occasional mid-November snowfall nothing compared to the storms of the new year. Despite it being far from his first winter in Insomnia, the thought of the oncoming winter was enough to make Nyx shiver. It didn't help that the Citadel was far too large to be heated efficiently, electricity too little and fireplaces too troublesome. The hallways were always worse than actual rooms, and the more popular areas were, naturally, prioritized over the less used ones.

Unfortunately, for Nyx and the other Glaives volunteered for Prompto Argentum's guard duty, the combination of a hallway far off the beaten path meant freezing to death. Or it had, until the day Prompto realized how cold the hallway was, and tearfully begged first Marshal Leonis, then Lord Amicitia for better accommodations for his guards. It might have been a bit unfair – the post at Prompto's door was far from the only cool spot in the Citadel, never mind those patrolling outside – but at the same time, the poor blond had been truly uncomfortable with someone suffering for his sake. According to the marshal, their first priority was to keep Prompto from experiencing unnecessary distress, and apparently, too much sympathy counted.

The kid had always been too kind for his own good.

It wasn't a bad post by any means, and even Nyx, who usually despised guard duty, found himself almost enjoying the work. Thanks to Prompto's bleeding heart, they now had a decent chair with a woolly blanket next to a portable space heater, and since the hallway was only used by a small handful of people making their ways in and out of the Queen Estel Suite, there was no need to be standing at attention all day long. For most of the shift, Nyx lounged on the chair, reading e-books and messaging his friends, eagerly waiting for stories from those who'd gotten lucky with the leaves of absence. Nyx was too far down the list to even think of going home; he didn't think he'd get to leave till the next spring at earliest.

The creak of the door opening caught Nyx' attention and he looked up to see Prompto peeking out of the door, hair tousled from sleep and eyes bleary with crust. He frowned a bit and glanced at the clock; the breakfast wouldn't arrive till another thirty minutes, and as far as he knew, Prompto had nowhere to be before his physical therapy.

”Morning, sunshine,” Nyx greeted the blond, grinning a little. ”Something wrong?”

”Uuh,” Prompto breathed out, almost disappearing from the door as he turned to glance behind himself. ”Do you – do you think you could come inside for a bit? Um, it's probably a bit silly, but, uh. Yikes.”

Nyx stood up and put away his phone, all the while carefully assessing the situation. Prompto appeared more confused than anything, no hints of panic or upset in his demeanor, only a flustered blush to his face. He was twiddling with his hands anxiously, though, a nervous tick Nyx recognized from their shared training lessons a few years back. Prompto held the door open and stepped aside to let Nyx inside.

”So, uh, as I said this is kinda silly and I'm probably just... imagining things or something,” Prompto babbled on, leading Nyx a bit further into the suite. He stopped next to a soft-looking sofa and threw his arms out in a jumpy ta-da motion. ”But, uh. Is that a dog over there?”

_What the fucking fuck_ , was Nyx' first impression. He blinked, unable to turn his gaze away. ”Yes, Prompto,” he said slowly, ”that is, in fact, a dog.”

A large white dog sat on the floor by the sofa, panting and happily wagging its tail. Its fur was thick and fluffy, pure as snow; if Nyx wasn't so confused, he probably would have spent a bit more time admiring the dog's beauty. As it was, however, he was stunned speechless, unable to comprehend how a dog might have gotten into the suite without anyone noticing. He'd been sitting at the door for about an hour already, Crowe done with her shift, and she'd reported nothing unusual. There were no other doors to the suite, either, except the secret passages no-one ever spoke about, but the people who were allowed to use them probably wouldn't drop a dog in Prompto's rooms without leaving a note... Nyx groaned and grabbed his head. It was too early for this kind of mess.

”Uh, so that's one of Luna's dogs,” Prompto spoke up, earlier nervousness replaced by a shaky grin. ”Like one of the magical dogs. The messengers. You know.”

Nyx did not know, because Nyx had never met the woman in question. He did, however, hear the implications of the words. ”I thought that the Astral's magic was supposed to be gone from this world.” He watched as Prompto scrambled across the room to pick up his phone, the dog following his every move.

”Yup!” Prompto replied, ”it is! Kinda, at least. But I guess the messengers aren't really Astrals.”

Nyx stood still while Prompto dropped down on the sofa, one hand reaching for the dog while the other held his phone to his ear. He probably wasn't needed inside the suite any longer – he was pretty sure he'd only been asked to come in to prove that the dog was real – but there was just too much going on for him to leave. Prompto was cooing at the dog, who rested its head on his lap and seemed to be enjoying the petting.

”What the fuck,” Nyx whispered to himself, just to get it out of his system. ”What the fucking fuck.”

Meanwhile, whoever Prompto was calling must have picked up because the blond started speaking, smiling with the force of the midsummer sun. ”Hi! Cor! Hi! I did the thing again!” he all but yelled into the phone, causing Nyx to wince. ”Um, Pryna's here. Luna's dog, the white one. Yeah, Pryna. No she's good and perfect and I love her – no? I'm good. Everything's good! Why did I – um. I thought it important? Yes? Oh, sorry...”

Prompto's facial expressions were a _journey_ and Nyx couldn't help staring as the blond's joy turned first to embarrassment and then to something resembling regret. By the time the call came to an end, Nyx was chuckling behind his palm. It was early enough in the day that Marshal Leonis might still have been in bed, and from the sound of the one-sided conversation, Nyx could only assume that that had been the case.

”Did you wake him up?” he asked, grinning at the pout on Prompto's face. He sat down on an armchair and gave the dog – Pryna, apparently – a scratch behind the ears when she came over to sniff him.

”It's not my fault he sleeps so late,” Prompto replied, embarrassed. ”I always thought he was an early riser but he actually sleeps longer than I do. Can you believe that?”

Nyx didn't have the heart to tell him that anyone who willingly got up at six in the morning just for the fun of it was the unbelievable one, not the ones who chose to sleep a bit longer. Instead, he smiled as Pryna returned to Prompto's side, begging for more attention with a soft whine that didn't go denied. ”Is everything good, then?” he asked. ”I mean, I've no idea what's going on and that's fine, but are you okay?”

”Uh, yeah,” Prompto said. His entire face was flushed red and he didn't quite look at Nyx' direction, but he appeared well enough anyway. ”I just – I was so surprised when I saw her here, I thought... Oh, hang on a sec.”

Whatever he was about to say – and Nyx could guess what it was, since he had been briefed on the most important issues – was interrupted by the sound of his phone beeping. Nyx waited patiently while Prompto read through the message, one hand still entangled in Pryna's fur. The moment didn't last long, the text apparently very short and not requiring an answer, but looking at the blond, Nyx thought he seemed happier somehow. More comfortable, less haunted. He didn't know any of the details behind Prompto's condition, only the symptoms and issues to watch out for and the steps to take in case something did occurr, but he could guess. Before the mess of the peace treaty, Prompto had been sunshine in a punk's clothing, but after his return, he'd been a mere shadow of his past self, even in the eyes of Nyx. Before everything, they had been casual mates at best, far from true friends, and still, even Nyx could guess enough to make his heart feel hollow.

”So, uh, looks like I'm gonna be eating breakfast with Cor and the King,” Prompto said, a horrified grimace on his face. ”Oh wow. That's not scary at all.”

Nyx quirked an eyebrow. ”I was under the impression you eat lunch with the marshal pretty much every single day,” he said.

”Yeah, but he's just Cor,” Prompto replied, ”he's not the King.”

”If you say so...” Nyx shrugged and leaned back in the chair, enjoying its softness; royal furniture sure was something else. ”Where's the breakfast? And when?”

”Uh, the King's private rooms, in thirty minutes.”

Nyx mapped out the Citadel in his mind and groaned. ”You might wanna get started on dressing, then,” he said, nodding towards Prompto who was still in his adorable pyjamas. ”Because it's gonna take us at least fifteen to get there, and you probably don't wanna be late from a meeting with the King.”

Prompto gasped and stood up fast enough to startle Pryna, who still tried to push against his legs. He dashed to the bedroom, fingers raking through blonde locks, and hastily pulled the sliding doors closed behind him, but not before letting the dog follow him. Nyx followed his antics with an amused smirk, then sighed, pulling out his own phone as he waited. He already had a new message from Marshal Leonis.

**Cor Leonis (6:10 a.m.):** sitrep  
**Nyx (6:14 a.m.):** everything is fine, sir  
**Cor Leonis (6:14 a.m.):** really?  
**Nyx (6:15 a.m.):** sir, there is a DOG in here  
**Cor Leonis (6:16 a.m.):** ...I see. Please escort Prompto to the King's private suite by 6:45 latest.  
**Nyx (6:17 a.m.):** understood

* * *

It hadn't taken Prompto longer than ten minutes to get dressed and finish his morning routine, though he did complain about not having enough time to properly do his hair, which hung around his face like a fluffy halo. Nyx shook his head, amused, and led Prompto and Pryna towards the King's suite. The closer they got, the more people they saw, but Prompto didn't cease his happy babbling.

Nyx wondered if the blond was lonely, with no-one but Marshal Leonis for company. He knew Prompto and the other guys were communicating via text messages, Gladio had confirmed as much after a sparring match, but that didn't seem to be enough. Nyx bit back a sigh; maybe he should try to hang out with the kid a bit more.

”Let's take a right at the next corner,” he said suddenly. Prompto looked up at him quizzically. ”His Highness and Gladio's rooms are that way, we're gonna have to go around.”

”Oh,” Prompto breathed out, a flicker of sadness in his eyes. ”Thanks.”

Nyx reached to squeeze Prompto's shoulder just as Pryna whined and pushed against the blond's left knee, drawing a happy squeak from the man in question. They continued walking, Nyx keeping watch and tracking the time. They rounded two more corners and continued down a hallway, past intricate doors and the occasional guard. Though Nyx could hear footsteps approaching from an intersecting hallway, he paid them little attention, thinking it another guard, only to find himself staring straight at Ignis Scientia.

”Oh, shit,” Nyx mumbled before he could stop himself. Next to him, Prompto had frozen, one hand clutching Nyx' arm, a truly shocked expression on his face. Pryna, however, barked once and skipped over to nuzzle against Ignis' legs.

”Who is it?” Ignis asked, frowning. ”What – is that a dog?”

”It's Nyx Ulric and Prompto,” Nyx answered, glancing at Prompto. ”Also, uh, yeah, that is a dog. We're just gonna–”

His words were cut off by Prompto, who let go of him and stepped forward, a dazed look in his eyes. His gaze flickered from Ignis to Pryna, who was wagging her tail against Ignis' knee. ”Iggy,” Prompto whispered.

”Oh dear,” Ignis replied. ”My apologies, I was not aware – I'll just be on my way. Please forgive me, Prompto.”

He stepped away from Pryna and tried to turn away, but at the same time, Prompto moved another step closer. Nyx followed him, an uncomfortable feeling spreading in his guts; according to his orders, he was meant to lead Prompto _away_ from situations like these, but the blond didn't appear in any hurry to leave. Instead, he inched closer to Ignis, eyes following Pryna's every movement, nervous and hesitant but not scared.

”Kid, maybe we should just go,” Nyx tried, moving after the blond, who ignored him and his words.

Nyx didn't actually know what was the deal with Prompto and the other guys; he'd only been told to keep them away from each other. After the briefing, he'd sat down with the rest of the volunteers to discuss the assignment, and they'd all agreed that they couldn't see Noctis, Ignis, and Gladio intentionally hurting the blond. Nyx had assumed that whatever it was that had happened to Prompto, the others had been too slow in rescuing him, or that they'd been forced to watch, or a billion other things. It hadn't really mattered, but it had been heart-breaking to see what the team of four friends had been reduced to.

”Iggy,” he breathed again, ”it's Pryna. Luna's Pryna. The messenger dog.”

Nyx couldn't keep up with the true meaning of Prompto's words, but it looked like Ignis didn't share his problem. The advisor frowned, but in less than a second, his expression fell lax in shock. ”I see,” Ignis said, slow and hesitant, like he was trying to stop himself from hoping too much. ”That's... nice, I suppose.”

Prompto wasn't deterred. Nyx, meanwhile, was cursing every single god he could name, glancing between Prompto and Ignis and his watch, counting down minutes till the meeting time. ”We really need to get going or you'll be late, sunshine,” he cut in firmly. ”Sorry, Ignis, but kid's supposed to be breaking fast with the King and the Marshal both, and I don't really wanna make him late.”

Ignis nodded. ”Of course. Prompto, it was great meeting you–”

”Can you walk with us?” Prompto interrupted, pleading. ”It's – it's Pryna, Iggy, and – and she's okay with you. She's – oh, but you were going somewhere so maybe you're busy, nevermind, I'm sorry–”

Nyx winced. As Prompto's words turned into sad little mumbles, a soft smile spread on Ignis' face, and slowly, so slowly, the advisor reached forward until his hand made contact with Prompto's shoulder. Nyx kept watch over the exchange, nervous because he really wasn't supposed to let this happen, but at the same time understanding that something seriously good was taking place before him.

”I'm in no hurry, darling,” Ignis murmured gently, ”I was merely returning from a walk in the gardens, on my way to see if His Highness would like to eat breakfast with me. Of course I can spare you a moment, Prompto, if that is what you truly wish for.”

Of course Ignis was another freaky early riser. Nyx sighed, glanced at his watch impatiently. He didn't want to rush things, not with the way Prompto was clinging to Ignis' arm, both of them blinking back tears while Pryna panted next to them, but they were going to be late and Nyx didn't want to give Marshal Leonis any more reasons to yell at him.

”Okay, guys, we need to go _now_ ,” he said, stressing the last word. Thankfully, Ignis at least seemed to understand the hurry and nodded, carefully maneuvering Prompto until they stood side-by-side, the blond still holding onto his arm.

”My apologies,” Ignis spoke. ”Nyx, would you please lead the way?”

”That's what I'm here for,” Nyx grinned. ”Alright, let's go.”

Wrangling the small group forward was relatively easy, and they weren't too far from the King's suite to beging with. Nyx felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, but he ignored it, knowing exactly who it was; he directed Prompto and Ignis past one last intersection and they entered the grand hallway. Leonis was already waiting, braced against the wall with one foot tapping against the floor.

He was _not_ happy.

* * *

A week and a half later, Nyx stood outside Drautos' office with Libertus and Crowe by his side, waiting to be called in. A moment earlier, it had only been Nyx and Libertus milling about the hallway, and little butterflies had flickered in Nyx' belly as he listed possible reasons for the meeting. He'd been hoping, and he knew that Libertus had been hoping as well, but then Crowe had arrived with a smirk on her lips and all hope had died on the spot.

They wouldn't be going home yet.

The door to Drautos' office opened and the captain himself waved them in, past the desk where his secretary used to sit, and into the room at the back. Nyx tried to ignore the empty desk, though it proved fruitless; the implications had seeped so deep into the lives of every single member of the Kingsglaive that it was the norm now. The secretary – a middle-aged man whose parents emigrated from the frontier long before the war ever spread that far – had been part of the first wave of resignations after the news of Drautos being Glauca in disguise got out, and they weren't allowed to hire any new personnel to replace him. The Council was still debating.

”I imagine you all know why you're here,” Drautos spoke while he slipped into his seat behind a grand desk, Nyx and the two others standing before it. ”First of all, Argentum will be joining the Cosmogony festivities as part of the prince's retinue, and the three of you have been chosen to travel along as security.”

Nyx nodded, and next to him, both Libertus and Crowe did the same. ”When will we be leaving, sir?” Libertus asked.

”The first of December,” Drautos replied. ”Tenebrae will send an airship to fetch all of you. The date of return is set for the second week of January.”

Five or six weeks in Tenebrae. It wasn't a long time, as far as missions usually went, and if things went well then it was bound to be a pretty nice one as well. The thought of Tenebraean winter made Nyx nervous, though, and while the public was already expecting a massive celebration, he knew there were countless issues hiding in the shadows.

”It will be your duty to guard not only Argentum, but the others as well,” Drautos continued. ”We're not expecting any trouble from the Empress and her people, but factions of Iedolas' supporters still exist in the wilderness, as well as people unhappy with King Regis' rule. It is unlikely anyone would make it to Fenestala and past the current Tenebraean army, but you must be on your guard nevertheless. The prince and his retinue must survive the journey unhurt, but even more importantly, nothing can happen that could cause the war to awaken once again. Understood?”

”Yes, sir!” three voices echoed in perfect unison. It spoke volumes that Drautos valued the still-tender peace over prince Noctis' wellbeing, especially as Nyx knew that the captain couldn't just say things like that without the King's permission. The peace was so important, worth more than anything, and the reality of it was only now slowly beginning to sink in.

Drautos nodded at them and continued to speak. ”Marshal Leonis has also decided that Argentum's guard is no longer necessary during the day. Your new schedules have already been arranged–” he paused and handed out three papers with the Kingsglaive watermark in the bottom right corner, ”–and from now on, the shifts will only last from 10:30 in the evening to 6:30 in the morning. There is no actual need for more than one guard, so if some of you want to quit, you can talk it out between yourselves. Just let me know of any changes. Questions?”

Nyx hadn't been expecting this, and from the looks on Libertus and Crowe's faces, neither had the other two. It was true that Prompto had been doing a lot better lately, his mood improving steadily since Pryna appeared, but Nyx hadn't realized things were this good. Prompto had even met up with the others a couple times, a short few minutes every other day or so, but Nyx or Libertus had always been there watching, right next to Marshal Leonis. The purpose of the guard at the door was to make Prompto feel safe, and if he no longer needed the guard... understanding hit, and Nyx couldn't help smiling.

”Will our orders remain otherwise the same?” Crowe asked.

”Yes,” Drautos replied, pausing for a beat in wait of other questions. When none came, he continued speaking: ”Right. One last issue, then you're free to go. Ulric, Ostium, your requests have been approved. You and two other Galahdians will leave on the first of March, and return by the morning of the thirtyfirst. If you do not report by noon, we will assume you're not caming back.”

Nyx didn't hear anything past the word 'approved' and next to him, Libertus stood still, shoulders tense. He was so lost in thought he barely noticed Crowe leading the two of them out of the office, Drautos staying at his desk. Only in the hallway, when Crowe wrapped one arm around his body and the other around Libertus, pulling both of them into a hug, did he begin to understand.

”Well, my boys,” Crowe grinned against his ear, ”who's going home?”

Home to Galahd. They'd be leaving in March, Nyx thought numbly, at the time when weak winter chills would give way to the warm spring winds blowing from the sea. Home to Galahd, to the lush greens and the blooming flowers, home to the river, home to the hills and valleys, the endless seas of wind-blown grass and mountains rising from the sea. Home to the shattered dreams, the crumbled buildings, the broken families. Home to the bar, and home to the dead.

Still in Crowe's hold, Nyx turned to look at Libertus, and saw him thinking the same.


	11. Gladio II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio prepares for a journey. Again.

If someone had at any point during the past ten years or so told Gladio that one day he'd be preparing to attent the Oracle's Cosmogony celebrations, he would have laughed in their face till he ran out of breath. Before the occupation, he'd been too young to travel, forced to stay at home with Jared and Noctis and baby Iris, watching their fathers on massive TV screens. Then the Empire attacked, claimed Queen Sylva's life and forced Ravus and Luna into servitude, almost killed Regis and Noctis as well, and by the time Gladio was old enough to step into his duty, he'd already gathered that Tenebrae was a lost cause. People still celebrated Cosmogony, glittery cut-outs of Princess Lunafreya sparkling amidst other decorations, but the TV screens across Eos remained blank.

He hadn't dared dream, yet here he was, sitting on his bed in his own room, a suitcase open at his feet. It was the night before they were set to leave, the last hours of the day quickly ticking by, and Gladio was stuck. Stuck because the whirwind called life had, once again, picked up after a momentary calm, and things that had began to settle were now back in the fray. There had never been true peace during his lifetime, as much as Insomnians typically liked to pretend otherwise, and he'd been raised to partake in the same war his grandfather had died in. Now they had peace and the war was dwindling into a memory, and though Gladio still had his duty, he didn't know how to be a peace-time Shield. That was the first issue, one that he had _maybe_ kind of learned to deal with, at least a little.

Enough time had passed since their arrival that Gladio could now clearly see what a mess he'd been back then. He still was, some days, but the worst of his insecurities had calmed down over time. He spent time with Noctis, Ignis, and Iris, just hanging out and having fun, though sometimes he saw Ignis' face and felt cold, and other times he looked around for Prompto and felt even colder. Or at least, that was how things had been, until the day the kid went and summoned a messenger out of his dreams and turned the world upside down, again.

Gladio, who had spent all his life learning to expect the unexpected, was suddenly finding himself too tired to handle all these changes.

Pryna's sudden appearance had been the miracle turn everyone was silently praying for, and Luna was in no hurry to have her back either. So, after some four months of avoiding each other, the four friends were back together, Gladio and Ignis and Noctis and Prompto. That was nice, better than nice, but not everything was fine. Prompto had elected to place all his trust and faith on Pryna, depending on her to sniff out any impostors. Still, sometimes Prompto would look up and see Gladio, or Ignis, or Noctis, and his entire body would freeze, fingers clutching at Pryna's fur, and they would all be reminded that she was the only thing enabling the meetings. They'd all remember just how sick Prompto was, and wasn't that just a fun thing, watching an important friend struggle with something you could do nothing about.

Gladio sighed and pressed his head into his palms. Though he was maybe okay with Ignis and Noctis, Prompto still made him want to cry more often than not.

This was his life now, though, and there was little else to do other than deal with it. Gladio eyed the suitcase at his feet, counting out socks and underwear and t-shirts, the three paperback romances tucked next to his toiletry bag; Jared and the tailors at the Citadel had collaborated on packing all his formal suits and outfits except for the one he'd be wearing the next day. Gladio didn't even want to think of the last day he'd donned his best blacks.

He also didn't want to think about the last time he'd packed for a journey, but wants and wishes meant very little. Back then – well, it hadn't been a good time for any of them, but they'd at least started out hopeful, almost excited over the prospect of picking up Noct's bride from the most romantic city in the world. They'd had the Armiger, too, and carrying their luggage and weapons had been easy. Unlike Ignis and Prompto, he'd had his sword out when Ardyn died, and so his blade was the only one to remain in this realm, but it had soon proved a useless piece of junk, too big and heavy to lug around.

He'd discarded it in Gralea, just outside the Keep, and though his father had understood – comrades before dead objects, always – they had both felt the shame of it.

Gladio sighed, but a knock at the door diverted his attention. He looked up just in time to see Iris peek into the room, a bright smile on her face. ”Dinner's ready,” she said, pushing the door wide open, ”daddy's already waiting.”

”Right.” Gladio stood up and stretched out a little, stiff after sitting still for too long. Iris watched him approach and he knew she was worried.

”Everything okay?” she asked.

”Mm-hm.” Gladio hooked an arm around Iris' shoulders and tousled her hair, grinning when she squealed and tried to pull away. He didn't let go until he'd pressed a kiss on the top of her head. ”I'm good, squirt, I'm good.”

* * *

Very early on the next morning, at the break of dawn, the Citadel stairs filled with people in black suits and uniforms. Gladio stood in the middle of it all, right by his father's side, and watched the scene unfold before him. Unlike on the day of their return, the entire plaza had been fenced off, Crownsguards standing around to keep the people at bay. There weren't a lot of them, the hour too early and the scene a bit too uninteresting, but they also couldn't take the risk of someone running into the plaza – after all, that was where the airship was supposed to land.

They could see the ship approach the Citadel, still far past the Wall, but getting closer and closer even as its speed dropped. By the time the belltowers began chiming, the airship was above them, descending and pushing out winds that swept powder-like snow back into the air. The sixth chimes rang out and exactly at six o'clock in the morning, the airship touched down.

”That's not showy at all,” Noctis murmured. The wind had messed up his hair and he was trying to sweep it back down. ”Of course Ravus would pull something like this, just to annoy me.”

Regis chuckled while others sighed. ”Oh Noctis, Noctis, my son... Perhaps I should send someone else in your stead, seeing as I'd rather not want to partake in an another war so soon after the last one.”

Noctis grumbled something in answer, but whatever his words were, they were hidden under Prompto's delighted gasp when the ship's doors opened with a hiss and a figure in black winter clothes stepped out. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, his hold tight on Pryna's leash; it was something he'd initially refused, saying that he couldn't just collar a god, but over time, the leash had become something of a lifeline, grounding him in reality.

”It's Aranea!” Prompto cried out, a sudden grin splitting his face. ”Aranea!”

And Aranea it was. Gladio groaned, already hating the smirk on her face, sure in the knowledge that now that there was nothing seriously bad going on, she'd be even more insufferable than usual. Next to him, Ignis sighed, but he didn't look too unhappy about the issue.

”Is she alone?” he asked, leaning a bit closer to Gladio.

”I'm guessing her crew's in the ship, but there's no-one else outside.” Gladio glanced up, trying to see if he could catch any movement in the windows of the ship. ”She's almost up to us.”

”My thanks.”

The greetings commenced a moment later, the usual polite babble of hellos and thank-yous. Meanwhile, the Citadel staff hurried to carry each bag of luggage into the airship, disappearing for a moment before returning with empty luggage trolleys. They were done in a flash, and then the talk stilled for a breath, and Gladio felt something cold grasp at his heart.

The last time they had all stood on these steps, they were returning as heroes, bloodied and bruised and battered too deeply, but it was the time before _that_ that had Gladio on the edge. He could still remember facing Regis, the well-wishes and the promises of a safe return, and then everything had gone to hell. Gladio swallowed, tried to push down the swell of anxiety. Ignis grasped his elbow and tugged.

”Walk me,” he said, a plea and an order and an absolution all in one, ”we're leaving.”

True enough, the group was beginning to split, Aranea leading Noctis towards the airship while Prompto followed, obviously excited. The three Glaives were hovering at the edges, waiting, so Gladio stepped down and guided Ignis forward. The steps themselves were clear of ice and snow, the former chipped off before it could accumulate to dangerous levels, the latter brushed away just as swiftly. The ground, however, was thick with ice, molten in some places and crunchy in other, gravel and salt thrown around to keep people from slipping.

”We're gonna have to walk on ice,” Gladio warned. The fingers in the crook of his elbow tightened their hold. ”Be careful.”

A moment later, they were all in the airship and the doors slipped shut as the crew prepared to take off. The flight would last for twelve hours, if everything went according to the plan, and after their arrival they'd be treated to a late dinner.

”Alright, then,” Aranea spoke up. She stood with one hand braced on her hip, eyes assessing the passengers. ”You three, give me your names.”

If the Glaives were offended, they didn't show it; Crowe even looked pleased, smirking in a way that almost made Gladio regret her inclusion in the guard. ”Crowe Altius,” she said, pointing a thumb at her chest, ”Nyx Ulric, Libertus Ostium.”

”Aranea Highwind, the captain of this ship. My word is law, and you will respect it.” She turned around and nodded at them, clearly asking them to follow her deeper into the ship. ”I'll show you to your rooms and the lounge. There's a small kitchen crew on board to keep you fed until we arrive in Fenestala. ETA is at half past six.”

They were lead down a handful of hallways, most of which Gladio could recognize from their previous trip. Back then, they had been heartbroken, fearing for Prompto's life, and the memories pulled a deep sigh from his lips. Those had been the worst weeks of his life, and it wasn't the part where they infiltrated the Empire that made him think so.

”You're brooding again,” Ignis said in a low voice.

”Yeah,” Gladio sighed. ”Shit memories.”

Ahead of them, Prompto had skipped up to Aranea, Pryna at his heels. He was grinning, and though Gladio saw Aranea roll her eyes, she too was smiling. ”Good to see you in one piece, Shortcake,” she said, reaching over to mess up Prompto's hair. The blond yelped but didn't try to sneak away.

”Aranea!” he whined, both happy and exasperated at the same time. ”No-one told me you'd be flying us! I didn't even know you were working for – you are working for Tenebrae, right?”

”My days with the Empire are done, kid,” Aranea replied. She stopped at a door and opened it, leading them into a large room Gladio assumed was the lounge she had mentioned. Once they were all inside, she pointed at two doors, each leading into a hallway with several bedrooms lined up, and rattled off the room assignments. A moment later, a young woman walked in and introduced herself as part of the kitchen staff.

”We'll bring in tea at nine and four, and lunch at one, but if any of you wish for anything else, please do not hesitate to contact the kitchen using the radio. Would you like any refreshments?”

They all declined her offer and she bowed out, Aranea exiting the room with her. ”Don't leave this area,” she said, ”and don't do anything stupid. I'll be back.”

She left, and for a moment, everyone stood still. Gladio sighed and threw himself into a pale green armchair, Noctis following suit. The small group dispersed quickly, Prompto and Nyx heading for the massive glass windows while Libertus left to check the bedrooms. Crowe eyed the bar with a sour look.

”I should've gone with her,” she murmured, then sat down at a bar stool and pulled out her phone. ”Damn.”

Meanwhile, Ignis had found an empty seat near Gladio and Noctis, and carefully lowered himself onto it. ”I must admit, I hadn't expected her presence,” he said. ”Though, to be completely honest, the matter of her employment hasn't been the foremost thought in my mind.”

Gladio hummed in agreement, a short noncommittal sound; they had all known that Aranea had chosen to affiliate with Ravus over Iedolas, but that had all been _before_ the Tummelts ran their coup d'état. Still, while it was good to know she was doing fine – they owed her so much for her part in rescuing Prompto – she had never been on the list of things that kept Gladio awake at night.

”It was on some council report or another, though,” Noctis spoke up. ”Like it wasn't anything big, her name was just mentioned in passing, but I recognized her. I guess I really should've been seen this coming, huh?”

”One step at a time, Highness,” Ignis remarked. ”You've only just learned to keep up with the reports; perhaps, in another decade or so, you will finally learn to incorporate that knowledge into real life. Don't worry, we'll make a proper king out of you yet.”

Gladio smirked at the faux-pleasant smile on Ignis' face, though he did notice that the other's voice sounded a bit stiffer than usual. He knew why; once, on a lonely evening after one drink too many, Ignis had confessed to feeling estranged and isolated, able to keep up with the regular news but not with the reports that accounted for a major part of his duties. There were people working on it, making experiments out of braille and text-to-speak applications and even recording the texts in spoken form, but nothing had been settled yet. It drove Ignis mad.

Noctis didn't show any signs of noticing anything wrong, though he probably had, seeing as he'd somehow turned into a perspective little brat with way too much insight into other people's troubles. He simply rolled his eyes at Ignis' remark and reached a hand out for Pryna, who padded over for pets. Prompto had detached the leash, though the black harness with silver studs and the occasional skull motif still sat around her body, Lucian colors and insignias on the Oracle's dog. Luna had more or less handed her over to Prompto, though, and they weren't supposed to talk about the magic involved in Pryna's appearance. Gladio had scoffed, at first, at the thought of a blubbering Prompto trying to keep himself from spilling the beans; then he'd remembered, realized, and hated himself another bit more.

”Who's a good girl, who,” Noctis cooed. Gladio sighed, then tried to exchange a look with Ignis; a habit he still hadn't broken.

”Pryna! Pryna's a good girl!” Prompto's voice chirped suddenly, startling Gladio, who hadn't noticed him approach. He glanced around and saw that both Nyx and Libertus had joined Crowe at the bar, all three of them looking at her phone with small, tender smiles on their faces. Feeling like he was intruding, Gladio turned back to Prompto, who had sat down on the sofa by Noct's feet.

”Guys, you won't believe how gorgeous the views are from up here!”

”Let me guess,” Gladio drawled, ignoring the memories of the last time they had flown across Eos, ”snow, snow, and even more snow. Oh, look, and a snowy forest! A snowy mountain! A snowy–”

”Okay, okay, I got it, big guy!” Prompto pouted and crossed his arms. ”It's still pretty, even if it's all snow.”

”You'll get tired of it as soon as we get to Tenebrae,” Noctis joined in, smirking. ”I bet you're gonna start before we even land.”

”Now, now, children,” Ignis sighed. He, too, was smiling. ”Let us be realistic here – I am sure dear Prompto will last till tomorrow morning.”

Prompto whined loudly and patted his knee, calling Pryna over and causing Noctis to yelp. ”What is it, everyone pick on Prompto day?” the blond huffed, faking an upset frown. Gladio laughed, the others joining in, and for a moment everything felt almost normal.

* * *

Later that day, after lunch had been served and eaten with gusto, Gladio sat with Ignis, Aranea, and Crowe while everyone else retreated to their rooms for some shuteye. Though it was technically still early in the day, the day had been a long one and just sitting around doing nothing left Gladio feeling like he was about to vibrate out of his skin. He sighed and turned to listen to Ignis and Aranea, who were discussing the new Empress.

”If I may ask, why did you decide to leave the Empire?” Ignis asked. ”I understand siding with Prince Ravus for the war, but it is my understanding that she is a fair ruler.”

Aranea leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, a tired expression crossing her face. ”She's a nice lady alright,” she said. ”It's not like I have a problem with her or what she's doing. I actually prefer her over Ravus, but it's just... better this way, somehow. Fuck if I know.”

”What's she like, then?” Crowe asked, interested. ”All the news I've seen are always focused on the things she's doing, not her personality. Kind of surprising, actually, pissy journalists missing a chance to shit on a woman like that.”

Aranea laughed. ”Yeah, no joke. Seriously, she's cool, don't worry about her. I'm just done with the Empire for now.”

Gladio nodded along, understanding – or at least trying to – her reluctance to return to the Empire, even with a new leader on the throne. Though he had never met the Empress, his education had encompassed a detailed description of each and every noble house still living on Eos, including House Tummelt. They had also run into Loqi, once, and though the meeting had been brief, the first impressions made on that day likely weren't very amicable.

”What about her son, Loqi?” Ignis asked, as if reading Gladio's thoughts.

”Another dramatic asshole like Ravus,” Aranea responded, earning chortled laughter from the others. Gladio was pretty sure that under Iedolas' reign, insulting the throne would have resulted in immediate execution. ”I personally can't stand the kid, and you'll have your troubles with him when he inevitably takes the throne, but he's not gonna go starting any wars either.”

The words were more than a little worrisome despite Aranea's reassurances, and Gladio frowned. ”You sure? He seemes like the kind of a guy who's really interested in building a strong army just for the sake of having one.”

”You thinking 'bout the magitek armors, right?” Aranea asked. When Gladio nodded, she sighed. ”Look. He's good at mecha. Under Iedolas, being good at something important meant not dying. That's left its marks on him, sure, but I'm pretty fucking sure you're worrying for nothing.”

Aranea painted a frightening picture and Gladio had to admit, growing up in Iedolas' Nifflheim had likely been a nightmare for everyone, from the ordinary citizens to the nobility. Iedolas had always prioritized military over his people, the expansion of borders over the wellbeing of what was inside of them, and the results had included thousands of refugees risking their lives as they sought out better lives.

”Loqi was conscripted to the army when he was eleven years old,” Aranea continued, her voice unusually remorseful. Gladio, who had started properly training around the same age still knew that their experiences couldn't be compared in any form. ”By twelve, he was at the field. At fourteen, he clashed with your Immortal, came back alive but not victorious. I imagine he started the way they always do, a boy who thought himseld invincible, but he's seen too much war already. Obviously I can't promise you shit, but I really don't see him willingly starting a war, ever.”

”Yeah,” Gladio sighed. ”I guess only time will tell us.”


	12. Lunafreya

For all her life, Luna had done little else but waited, her life's story scripted first by her attendants, then by the Empire and the Astrals. She ate when she was told to eat and slept when she was told to sleep, spending the hours between studying for a life she was never meant to live. When everything began to unravel, Gentiana had stood by her side, a calm presence so deep Luna had felt like she could get lost in her.

Altissia should have been her end, but it wasn't. Somewhere along the way the fabric of time began to unravel from its pre-determined pattern, and when Altissia came, she still had life flowing in her veins. When the Accursed stood before her, Luna thought he would be her end, but then a friend had swooped in to save her. When the MTs surrounded the two of them, she thought – surely this is it, surely this is my end, but he hid her and fought and gave her a way out. Luna had never been trained in fighting beyond theoretical lessons in the art of war. She wasn't meant to live, both because of the prophecy and her lack of skills, but she did.

Now they lived in a world that was never meant to exist and Luna, still her same old self, unlearned waiting. She took her place by her brother's side, shared silent conversations with him before sending out orders; she learned and made mistakes and grew, took the press of her crown as a challenge rather than a destiny. No longer was she a decorative figure head, no longer was she a pawn on someone else's chessboard. Ravus was far more skilled at leading, but she was desperate to learn and catch up, and when he smiled at her with pain in his eyes, Luna knew the years had not taken her brother from her.

They had a life they were never meant to have, a kingdom raised in their name but shattered by the sword of an other, and they would do all in their might to rebuilt their nation.

Together, the two of them were the crown of Tenebrae.

* * *

On the first day of December, Luna went back to waiting. As darkness fell over the lands and evening began to approach, she calmly closed her books and prepared herself for the arrival of their guests. Ravus, still just as impatient as he had always been, took to pacing the lenght of her rooms while Luna dug through her closet in search of the perfect outfit. She had the most gorgeous dresses waiting for the formal dinners and galas, the services at the temple, but today she ended up choosing a pair of lilac pants and a matching tunic with a high collar. They'd welcome their guests outside, after all, and the temperatures had dropped below freezing as soon as the sun disappeared from their sky.

”Calm down, brother,” Luna said when she exited her dressing room and saw that Ravus was still moving around impatiently. ”Time will not bend to your will no matter how you try.”

Ravus scowled at her. ”You know I don't like waiting.”

Luna chuckled while browsing through the jewellery boxes on her vanity. As a brother and sister, her and Ravus could not have been any different in terms of personality and character, though she had been happy to notice that their opinions tended to line up on the most important issues.

”Wear the purple diamonds tonight,” Ravus suggested, moving closer to tap one of the boxes with his finger. Luna nodded; she'd been thinking the same. The jewels were heavy and ornate, one of the oldest sets in Luna's everyday selection. The color of the diamonds was something she had never seen elsewhere, so dark and deep they were almost black against their silvery cradle. The earrings weighted down her ears and the wide bracelets felt like cuffs, but she was used to it.

Ravus took the necklace from her and wrapped it around her neck while she held her hair out of the way. The fingers of his prosthetic hand were too clumsy for something as delicate as a jewelry clasp and it took him a moment, but soon the chain of square diamonds circled her throat.

”Thank you,” Luna said as Ravus stepped back.

”We should head out, they should be here soon.”

Luna nodded and threw her formal cape over her clothes before reaching for the offered arm. Side by side, the two of them didn't look much like siblings unless the light hit their faces just so, but dressed in royal colors, their shared heritage was irrefutable. Luna had worn very little white since her return home, though the choice had not been deliberate; she had not noticed it herself until one of her tailors commented on it. Ravus, for his part, had explicitly asked the tailors to completely redesign his uniform, unwilling to abnegate his colors, but unable to wear a suit grafted by imperial design.

The crown of Tenebrae was reforming along its rebuilding country, all sights set on a future without pain of oppression.

* * *

For Luna, winter had always meant darkness. Fenestala, though one of the most populated areas of their country, was nevertheless a city built on sprawling hills and deep valleys, and the streetlamps did little to light up the city around the manor. Luna, Ravus, and a handful of other people stood shivering at the end of one of the bridges leading to the manor, high above the gardens and the sylleblossom fields. They could all see the airship in the distance.

Powdery snow flew in every direction and Luna had to shield her eyes as the airship descended towards the landing area before them. Soon it was done and another moment later the doors opened, Aranea hopping out with a nod. She stood to the side and as soon as shadowy silhouettes appeared at the doorway, camera lights began to flash around them.

Noctis was the first one to exit the ship, followed by Gladio and Ignis, and finally, Prompto and Pryna. Luna smiled softly and gazed across the last three people coming out, all of them dressed in Kingsglaive uniforms – the security, then. Noctis shared a few words with his entourage before turning around to make his way to where Luna and Ravus were standing, and she couldn't resist smiling as pure joy filled her heart. It had been so long.

While the guests approached the bridge, Luna used the time to study their features. Their black clothes almost disappeared under the streetlights, and Noctis, with his dark hair, looked almost like a ghost as yellow lights cast shadows on his face. He looked healthy, though, and untroubled, so different from their last meeting.

Behind Noctis, Gladio was walking Ignis, the latter using a white cane to map the ground in front of him. At least on the surface, Gladio was much the same as he'd been at the end of the summer, but Ignis had undergone a massive change. His movements were much more fluid and confident, though Luna's eyes were drawn to his face, which had healed to the point of almost shocking her. Still smiling, Luna sought out Prompto's form.

Unlike the others, Prompto's outer expression was worse than when they'd last met, but not as bad as Luna had been led to expect. He was a bit underweight and had dark circles under his eyes, not to mention his trembling hold on Pryna's leash. When Lucis contacted their staff to inform them about Prompto's attendance, Luna had been beyond delighted, and not just because of the several gratitudes waiting to spill from her lips. The original refusal to attend the celebrations had been due to his poor health, so when the plans were rewritten, Luna knew immediately that something had happened.

She hadn't expected Pryna, but like so many times before, Luna shrugged off her surprise and continued smiling. She couldn't deny missing her dogs, nor could she say that she didn't want Pryna back by her side, but it was Prompto who summoned Pryna back to their realm, and it was Prompto who needed her the most, so Luna kept silent. As much as it hurt, she knew she'd made the right decision.

While she was musing, Noctis had finally reached them. He bowed deep, face stony with a polite smile. ”Your Highnesses,” he greeted them, ”on behalf of Lucis and my father's court, I thank you for your warm welcome.”

”Welcome to Tenebrae,” Ravus spoke, reaching to shake hands with Noctis. When they were done, Luna stepped in, echoing the same words.

Noctis moved on to introduce his retinue, not that there was much confusion over who was who. Ravus, however, had only ever met Gladio before. ”My Shield, Lord Gladiolus Amicitia, as well as my advisor, the Count Ignis Scientia.” Noctis paused while everyone shook hands, then physically pulled Prompto forward. ”Also, my best friend, Prompto Argentum.”

Luna wanted to raise an eyebrow over the noticeable lack of title but said nothing. It had only been a scarce few months since the end of the war and if she recalled correctly, King Regis had yet to hand out any decorations of honor either. The first medal on Prompto's chest would be of Tenebraean origin, an elaborate design awarded only to the most distinguished people of all – the Tenebraean unicorn, or the Royal Crest of Honor. The medal had been wrought and engraved well in advance and sat waiting in a drawer in Ravus' study.

The smile on Ravus' face was honest and ingenuous when he greeted Prompto. ”Mr. Argentum,” he said, ”my most heartfelt thanks for all you have done for my sister and our country. You will always be welcome in Tenebrae.”

”Oh, um, thank you, Your Highness,” Prompto stammered.

Finally it was Luna's turn to greet her savior. She had been taught to remain calm and polite, to never give in to impulses, but she was becoming a different woman so when Prompto turned to her, ready to shake hands, she stepped forward and threw her arms around him. The cameras flashed, but she knew people would understand.

* * *

The dinner was already ready for them, so they shrugged off their winter garments and followed an attendant to one of the dining halls. Luna had stopped by earlier in the day to make sure everything was as planned, and had not been disappointed; the round table shone under candle lights stuck between boughs of evergreens, and now that the grand fireplace had been lit as well, the room had a delightfully cozy air to it. The dinner was informal enough that the three Kingslaive members were allowed to sit in along with Aranea.

”Please take your seats,” Luna said, indicating the table. She and Ravus sat next to each other with their backs to the fireplace and Noctis knew without prompting that his place was next to her. Prompto appeared a little confused, mostly because the seat obviously reserved for him – marked by thick rubber sleeves slid on the utensils to aid him with his weakened grip – was on the other side of Ravus. An embarrassed flush spread on his face when he realized he'd been seated in a place of honor, but he pulled out the chair without a complaint and sat down, Pryna laying on the floor behind him.

After everyone was seated, Ravus gave the sign and the first course was carried in. Casual coversation filled the table as everyone attacked their bowls of soup. Luna, once again, observed her guests. Gladio was murmuring something close to Ignis' ear, a private exchange likely in the advisor's aid. Across the table, Prompto didn't yet need one of the grip sleeves, whatever they were called, but Luna had already caught glimpses of his left hand and almost recoiled at the sight of it. The sleeves had been mailed from Insomnia after it became clear that such items didn't exist in Tenebrae, and Luna, after hearing about them, immediately realized their worth. Though the Imperial rule had only lasted a little over a decade, their country had been forced to fall behind in progress. Before, Luna had thought about electric networks and radio coverage and new treatments for old illnesses, but now she knew it was far more than that.

The three Glaives, seated almost directly across from Luna, seemed like a joyous bunch of friends. The woman, Crowe Altius, got along with Aranea splendidly, and Luna noticed the slightest of frowns on Ravus' face whenever he looked at the two women. The relationship between him and Aranea was one Luna could not begin to understand, one full of teasing and fighting, yet the heat of their insults never seemed to hit home.

The larger man, introduced as Libertus Ostium, had a lovely smile and a booming laugh, though it was clear he was trying to force himself to remain quiet. It was the other man, however, who caught Luna's attention to the point where she worried she'd be noticed staring at him. Nyx Ulric was _cute_ , and suddenly Luna came to understand the dictinction between cute and adorable; Prompto was the latter, warm as sunshine and bright enough to bring a smile to Luna's lips. Nyx Ulric, on the other hand, was... not _cute_ , but attractive, and Luna guessed that that's what the other girls always meant when they called boys cute. Either way, looking at him made her face feel warm, but she didn't want to look away either.

Ravus cleared his throat with the subtlety of a garula in a porcelain shop and Luna knew she was busted.

* * *

The next morning, Luna asked Prompto to join her and Ravus for breakfast. Nyx Ulric tagged along for security reasons and Ravus had him sit at the table, which was already small for three people, so Luna had to decide between digging her elbow into Nyx' stomach every time she moved or sitting straight across him. She chose the latter.

It was awkward. Ravus was not the kind of a person who would initiate conversation just to fill the silence, and Prompto looked too embarrassed to speak up in the presence of two royals who weren't Noctis. Nyx, perfectly polite, had the manners of a soldier taught to speak only when spoken to. Behind her serene smile, Luna despaired.

”Is this the first time in Tenebrae for both of you?” she eventually asked. Prompto and Nyx glanced at each other, then nodded.

”It's great to be here!” Prompto chirped. ”I'd seen pictures of the manor before, but they really don't do the real thing justice!”

”That is true,” Ravus commented over his cup of coffee. The conversation died on the spot.

Luna resisted the urge to sigh and let her gaze fall to Pryna, who was sitting on the floor behind her and Prompto. When their eyes met, she yipped and pounced forwards, pushing against Luna's lap until she reached down to stroke her fur. The black harness felt out of place against the familiar white fluff, yet it seemed fitting somehow, like it had been designed to match the uniform Prompto had worn when they met in Altissia.

Prompto shuffled anxiously. ”Um, do you – is it okay – I feel kind of bad for sort of... stealing your dog, Lu–, oh, I mean Your Highness.”

”Please, call me my name, Prompto,” Luna smiled. ”I think you've more than earned it. Also, Pryna and Umbra were only ever mine because they were needed by the Oracle's side; they have always gone where they are needed the most, and I understand this time is no different. Besides... I know she's in good hands.”

Luna was unsure if she was referring to Prompto taking care of Pryna or to him saving her life, but either way, it didn't matter. The blond flushed bright red and beamed at her. ”She's the best dog _ever_ ,” he said.

Ravus. ”A bit of a runaway, though,” he mused. Prompto and Nyx looked confused, but Luna just laughed, shaking her head.

”If there is one thing I have learned in my life it is that the Astrals and their messengers do not care for human intervention,” she said, smirking a little. ”Also, brother, Prompto was the one to take care of Pryna that time you're referring to – I thought I had told you so, but I guess I must have forgotten.”

Ravus let out an understanding sound and nodded, a small hint of a smile on his lips. ”I see. Is there something you cannot do, Mr. Argentum? I'm starting to think that every bit of luck that has befallen my sister in the past can be linked back to you.”

It was an exaggeration, of course, but once again Prompto spluttered and turned red. Not for the first time, Luna had to squish the sudden urge to pinch his cheeks; he truly was adorable. Across the table, Nyx continued to look confused, and Prompto seemed to notice this as he began to explain: ”When I was a kid, I found this injured puppy and decided to take care of her until I found her owner. One day when I got home, she was gone, but then later she returned with a letter from Princess Luna. That's, um, that's how I knew who Pryna was that morning when she showed up in my rooms, cause I'd already met her before.”

Nyx nodded slowly. ”Right,” he said. ”Every time I think I know you, you go and pull something like this.”

”Have you known each other for long, then?” Ravus asked.

”For some years, now, Your Highness,” Nyx replied, glancing at Prompto. ”I first saw him soon after he made friends with Prince Noctis, but we didn't really interact until he began training for the Crownsguard.”

”Yup!” Prompto grinned. ”I trained with the Glaives a lot. They're all really nice people.”

Ravus accepted the answers with a nod and called for the staff to come collect the empty dishware. Luna turned the discussion to the upcoming Cosmogony festivities, which neither Prompto nor Nyx had partaken in before, and soon a maid arrived with an empty food trolley. She curtsied and began piling the used dishes on the trolley, but as she turned away from the table, plates in hand, her shoe caught something and she tripped over.

It was like watching something happen in slow-motion, Luna thought; she saw what was happening but had no time to react beyond gasping and trying to reach for the maid. Then something truly curious happened, and Luna realized that within a blink of an eye, Nyx had somehow moved from his seat to the floor, where he now sat with the maid literally on his lap, both of them blinking in confusion. He hadn't moved.

”What the fucking fu–” he began, then cleared his throat. ”I mean. What.”

”Oh my!” Luna gasped just as the maid began to stutter apologies. Nyx had a hazy look on his face, like he wasn't entirely sure of what was going on, but he managed to help her back to her feet.

”Nyx!” Prompto breathed out, sounding both amazed and delighted. ”You just warped!”

”Though I am no expert in Lucian magic, I do think I would personally call that teleporting,” Ravus said slowly. He shook his head. ”Nevermind; are the two of you alright?”

”Yes, Your Highness!” the maid replied. She looked truly ashamed and was twisting her apron anxiously, so Luna stood up to lay a calming hand on her elbow. Prompto and Pryna had already moved to Nyx' side. ”I am so sorry!”

”It's alright, love,” Luna said. ”Nothing is broken and most important of all, no-one was hurt either. Here, let us help.”

She picked up the plates that had fallen down and glanced at Nyx, who was slowly beginning to look better. Prompto helped him up and to one of the chairs, where he swiped at his face. ”My apologies,” he sighed. ”That was a bit – weird.”

”Your first time using magic since the New Dawn, I take it?” Luna asked. The maid had collected herself and was done with the dishes, so she sent her out with a gentle smile and a reminder to keep her chin up.

”That was so cool!” Prompto cried out. ”You can still warp! Or teleport, or whatever that was! That's awesome!”

”Yeah, sure, if you say so,” Nyx muttered. ” _Embarrassing_ is the word I would use, but I guess that's just me.”

They all laughed at him in their own ways, Ravus smirking while Luna hid behind her palm. When Nyx' disorientation waned, they bid each other goodbye for time being and returned to their duties, a staff member called to walk Prompto and Nyx back to their rooms. Luna watched them go with a gentle smile, one that was so deep that even Ravus' raised eyebrow couldn't wipe it from her face.

”It truly is curious,” she whispered, ”to see first hand the birth of new magic.”

Ravus watched her from the corner of his eye. ”I speak from personal experience when I say this,” he said, voice grave and quiet; ”jealousy is not worth the turmoil it brings.”

They were the crown of Tenebrae and their children would grow to rule, but she was the last Oracle and the death of her blood. Luna had expected to die for mankind's survival, yet it was her who lived to the New Dawn and beyond, and so it would fall on her shoulders to see her entire person crumble to dust. As the princess of Tenebrae, she still had a duty to serve, but as the Oracle, she was unneeded.


	13. Ignis II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon his return to Fenestala, Ignis expects to feel something. He doesn't.

To Ignis, returning to Tenebrae and Fenestala was not a revelation. It was not coming home, nor was it the purgation he had expected it to be. He felt the coldness, heard the silence, smelled the crisp snow, and found out that beyond the dip in temperatures, there was nothing to differentiate Fenestala Manor from the Citadel. Guards loomed at every corner he passed, council members and advisors passed him with swishing robes and jingling ornaments. Though some of the meals were clearly Tenebraean traditions relatively unknown in Lucis, he remembered the flavors and the textures; he had even cooked some of the dishes himself, once upon a time.

In the darkness of his life, everything was the same.

He was selling himself short again; though he still had some ways to go, Ignis had grown adjusted to his new life. Returning to Tenebrae after almost two decades of absence had thrown him off his game, so to speak, leaving him untethered and uncharacteristically moody. He had expected a catharsis, the consummation of all the loose ends in his life. He'd been born here, in the hospital underneath the manor; he'd learned to ride a bike on the streets and played ball in the gardens, he'd tied blue flowers into chains and built forts out of snow with the other children. Some of those children were still alive, but while Ignis remembered them, all of them had likely forgotten about him over the passage of years.

His parents had died here. Regis and Noctis had returned home from a burning city and a conquered country, one full of regret and the other full of fear. When Ignis' uncle finally received confirmation of his parents' death, months had passed. Where their bodies lay, Ignis did not know – but he also was unsure if he'd even want to know. He remembered his mother's embrace and riding on his father's shoulders, true, but he also remembered traveling to Insomnia on his own, the weekly letters turning monthly and then rarer, the other children just like him. If one defined family as a unit that spent time together and supported each other, then Ignis had more family in Gelea than in his parents.

A soft sigh disappeared into the silent night. Ignis rested in bed, unable to sleep; five days had passed since their arrival in Fenestala, and he still hadn't made peace with his past. Perhaps it had been too impatient of him to assume things would fall to their rightful places as soon as he stepped foot in Tenebrae, but he was desperate in a way he couldn't remember experiencing before. He _needed_ closure like he needed air and food.

Too irked to find sleep, Ignis finally rolled to his side and crawled out of the massive four-poster bed. At first, the heavy curtains that surrounded the bed had been a pain to deal with, leaving him tangled and claustrophobic with little way out, but he'd learned to gently push the thick velvet aside before swinging his feet to the carpeted ground. In a nearby bed, Gladio snored behind similar curtains, a familiar sound that brought comfort to Ignis' heart. As carefully as he could muster, Ignis stood up and collected a pair of slippers and a thick dressing robe before slipping out of the room. His cane collided with the door a bit harsher than he'd intended, but the pattern of Gladio's snores wasn't disturbed.

In the safety of their shared lounge, Ignis huffed a laugh. Though he hadn't checked for the exact time, it was late at night, everyone else long since asleep. Ignis felt his way to the windows and then the door, pushing it open as soon as his fingers found the door knob. The balcony was heated but still cooler than the actual living areas had been and Ignis pulled the robe tighter around his body. He could hear the soft shuffles of someone else standing in the balcony with him.

”Iggy,” Prompto's voice called out. He sounded a bit upset, Ignis realized, suddenly worried.

”Prompto?” he asked, turning to face the other. ”What are you doing up at this hour?”

A snort of laughter. ”I could ask you the same, dude,” he said. ”Um, I have a blanket if you wanna sit with me? It's big enough for two.”

If Ignis strained his hearing, he could just make out the sound of Pryna's breaths. He hesitated, unsure if his presence would actually be wanted; whatever was wrong with Prompto, he didn't want to cause any more distress. After a moment of pondering he gave in and walked over, letting Prompto guide him to the seat. The aforementioned blanket was thick and already warm when it settled over Ignis' shoulders and he smiled at the presence next to him. Pryna whoofed and settled down over their feet.

”Is everything alright?” Ignis asked. He felt Prompto's body move slightly under his arm. ”I'd like to take a moment to remind you I still cannot see, darling.”

A soft chuckle reverberated in the air. ”Sorry,” Prompto sighed. ”It's just been a long day and I couldn't really sleep. Thought I'd sit here for a while... I can't get any good shots from here but the scenery is still really nice.”

Ignis nodded. He assumed Prompto was referring to the small gala held mostly in his honor and the elaborate medal Ravus had attached on his chest. The gala had also been the first time Prompto was expected to properly socialize and represent his country in such a formal situation, and though Ignis knew the blond had stressed and felt uncomfortable at times, he had managed to get through the event without any scandals or setbacks. Ignis was proud of him, but for the first time in several weeks, he had found himself bitter over his blindness, wishing nothing more but to witness the awarding with his own eyes; Gladio had once again whispered decriptions of the scene to his ears but in the soft hush of the room, it hadn't mattered much.

”What about you, Iggy? Why're you still up?”

”Much the same as yourself, I am afraid,” Ignis sighed. ”Sleep has taken to evading me and I couldn't bear another moment of listening to Gladio's snores.”

Prompto snorted. ”Yeah, I bet,” he quipped, though there was a wistful edge to his words. ”Um, is there something specific that's keeping you up? You don't have to tell me, of course, but, uh. I'll listen if you wanna talk?”

”It is just a little... bewildering, returning to Fenestala,” Ignis admitted after a moment of pondering. ”I had expected to feel _something_ , though I cannot say what.”

Prompto shifted a bit and Ignis knew, blind as he was, that the blond was biting his lip. ”You lived here before, didn't you?” he eventually said, repeating something already established years and years earlier. ”And your parents.”

Of all his friends, Prompto was probably the only one to understand. While both Noctis and Gladio had lost their mothers too early and too violently, the women in question had not _chosen_ to disappear from their childrens' lives like Prompto and Ignis' parents had. Usually, when Ignis needed to discuss his childhood, he sought out Gelea – they had been raised the same, after all – but as she'd been discovered in an orphanage by the frontier, the issue of family and parents was something they didn't have in common. Ignis and Prompto did, however, though for some reason they had never discussed the matter.

”I honestly don't know what it is that I want,” Ignis conceded. ”My parents are dead and any peers I had have long since forgotten about me. I have _nothing_ here, yet I keep on expecting _something_.”

Prompto was silent for a long while. ”I left mom and dad a letter,” he eventually spoke, quiet and somber. ”I don't know if they'll ever return to Insomnia to read it, but I thanked them for adopting me and taking care of me for all those years.”

'Taking care' was the exact antonym of the word Ignis would have chosen to use in describing Prompto's parents, but if the blond found closure in forgiveness, then it wasn't Ignis' place to reprimand him for it. Besides, there was more to Prompto's words than just the obvious; an implication, a conscious decision to discard the bad times and remember what little love he had been gifted over the years. Ignis mulled over the words as the conversation fell to a stop once again.

When he remembered his parents, he did so with love and longing. They _had_ loved him from the day of his birth – or from the moment of his conception, who knew – and in the early years of his childhood he had felt their affection and devotion to him. Yes, his parents had in all effect given him up when the Lucian crown asked them to, but then again it would have been foolish of them not to accept the honor on behalf of their son. That was the logic Ignis had returned to year after year, every time he found himself upset with his missing parents. They had done the reasonable thing, and it couldn't have been easy for them either. Ignis wasn't the only one who'd been lonely.

”Is it very dark outside?” he asked suddenly. Next to him, Prompto startled, a short confused splutter spilling from his lips.

”Uh, about as dark as can get, I think,” he answered. ”Tonight's full moon, though, and there aren't any clouds in the sky.”

”I see.” Ignis continued to deliberate his next words for another beat. ”Would you be willing to describe the city for me?”

Another sound of surprise. Prompto sat up, pulling away from Ignis just a fraction but not enough to shake away the arm resting on his shoulders. ”Sure, Iggy, whatever you want,” he said. ”Uh – do you remember how the city's built in a valley, rising onto the mountains while the manor looks like it's floating in air in the middle of it all?”

Ignis nodded. The gravity-teasing feat of architechtural engineering was beyond famous around the world; more than one fantasy castle had been created in image of the Fenestala manor, and the beautiful nature had inspired several artists throughout centuries. Ignis' memories of the city were faint and singular, so while he remembered the crawl of houses on mountainsides, he couldn't say which direction he had lived in, only that it had been high above the bottom of the valley. His childhood home had boasted a magnificent view of the manor, but so did all the other houses on this side of the mountain ranges.

”Oh, okay,” Prompto said. ”Right. So – it's night, and the sky is dark but clear. The moon is right above us, shining over the city. I can even see the stars on the sky, like little diamonds on black velvet – that's how clear the air is.”

Ignis sat back and listened, letting his imagination run free over memories gilded by time. He saw the sky in its full glory, the shape of mountain tops against black night, highlighted by the gleam of the silver moon. The street lights were too few to cause light pollution, but they lit up crawling paths that snaked from the top of the mountains to the bottom of the valley, casting colors like the sunrise on houses built of golden stones. The stones Ignis remembered well, how they shone and gleamed under the summer sun; the roads, too, built on mountains too steep for anything but steps and curving loops. Ignis smiled and listened on.

”Most of the houses are dark because it's so late at night,” Prompto continued, voice soft and steady; ”but there's a couple that have the lights on behind their windows. There's one, almost at the top of the mountain, that has smoke rising from the chimney. I hope they're warm inside, cause it's really cold up here.”

From the houses, Prompto moved to the bridges and towers connecting the manor to the mountains, describing guards shivering as harsh winds blew snow in their faces. ”Their uniforms are white with black lining, kind of like Ravus' clothes,” he explained. ”So at night, they stand out in the darkness like little beacons of light, but during the day, they almost disappear into the snow.”

Ignis recalled the uniforms of his childhood and nodded. During the Imperial occupation, all members of the army were either killed or forced to relinquish their positions, and the rare photographs that made it out of Tenebrae depicted MTs and soldiers in Imperial red, the colors of the royal house designated for Ravus and Lunafreya only. He couldn't say if any alterations had been made to the current uniforms but it was a relief to hear the white-and-black clothes were back in use.

”I think that if it was summer, this place would be even more beautiful,” Prompto spoke softly, still leaning against Ignis' side. ”I've been to the winter gardens, but Luna said that during summer, the gardens cover the entire valley, sylleblossoms everywhere. I've never seen one in real life, you know? Since they don't really grow elsewhere that well.”

”They are a beautiful flower,” Ignis said. ”And if you wish to visit when the snow has melted, then I am sure both Ravus and Lunafreya would be delighted to have you back.”

Prompto shrugged, obviously a little embarrassed. ”They're both really nice,” he murmured. ”The way Noct talks about him, I thought Ravus would be a real dick, but he's actually kinda cool.”

Laughter bubbled from Ignis' lips. ”Please make sure I am there to witness it if you ever feel the need to repeat those words in Noctis' presence,” he chuckled. ”Though, to be honest, the animosity between the two has always been a tad odd – I know at least a part of it is due to Ravus greatly disliking the idea of Noctis and Lunafreya marrying, but its roots must lie elsewhere.”

”It's hilarious, though,” Prompto noted, ”watching them trying to piss each other off without causing a scandal. They're so ridiculous, it's unreal!”

Ignis laughed, again, but soon silence fell over the two men as their conversation ended. Ignis wiggled his toes against Pryna's soft belly and tought of Fenestala, the city and the manor described to him through the eyes of a stellar photographer. He had always been jealous of the way Prompto saw the world around him, the wondrous flourish he could find in even the most mundane of situations and objects, but also the honesty of his eyes as he gazed around him, as if he was looking at the very truth of the universe itself.

”May I ask of an another favor, Prompto?” Ignis asked, still hesitating.

”Sure thing, dude! Anything you want!” Prompto answered back, sunshine in the dark of the winter. Ignis knew he was grinning ear-to-ear.

”Of course,” Ignis murmured, sighing. He felt nervous and anxious all of sudden, a tremble gnawing at his heart and lungs. ”Would you – would you be willing to describe my face for me?”

The earlier cheer died instantly and Prompto turned, a soft sound on his lips. Ignis knew there was no need for him to be so irrationally embarrassed over his request, yet he couldn't shake his nerves. ”Oh, Iggy,” Prompto sighed, one hand coming to rest over Ignis' own. ”Of course I'll do that. Do you – is this really okay?”

Ignis nodded. His throat felt tight. ”Please,” he whispered. ”Gladio, my uncle, the nurses and the doctors, they all tell me that it's not bad, but no-one will ever say anything further, and I–”

He cut himself off there, unable to say what it was that he was truly feeling. ”Well, they're not wrong,” Prompto said, both warm and firm at the same time. ”It really doesn't look that bad. Um, may I?”

Ignis felt a shy touch on his cheek and realized what Prompto was asking. He nodded and a moment later, careful hands reached for his glasses. He felt almost naked without them; he'd grown with the subtle weight of glasses on the bridge of his nose and now that he was blind, the weight felt more and more like a shield as time passed by.

”Back when I first saw you, in Gralea,” Prompto began shyly, almost distantly, and Ignis realized this was the first time the blond had willingly mentioned the events in his presence; ”I didn't really know what to think of you, cause – cause Ardyn always used your old face when he pretended to be you. So when the three of you showed up and I saw your face all burned up, I was too surprised to even freak out. Like – what you saw back then – well I guess you didn't _see_ , but, uh – that was a _good_ reaction from me.”

It was true, Ignis hadn't seen – but he had been there, had heard Gladio's curses and Noctis' shell-shocked silence. In that moment, he'd expected the worst, but a moment later he had heard an electric hiss of something heavy moving, and soon after, Prompto's first cries had reached him. He'd been an inconsolable mess, bloodied and bruised and so full of injuries they hadn't even known where to begin fixing him. Ignis hadn't seen, but he had heard every hitched breath, every desperate cry, every terrified scream.

According to Prompto, that had been a good reaction. Ignis remembered the sounds of someone running away from camp, followed first by shaky cries and then by the sound of Gladio marching back to camp, a heavy weight in his arms, and he knew Prompto was truthful in his assessment.

”Anyways, uh, back then,” Prompto began anew, ”your face was like really pink – you know that post-potion sheen that sticks for a while even after the injury itself is healed?”

Ignis nodded. ”Yes, I do.” He had seen it several times in his life, even before they departed for Altissia and the wedding that never was; skin gleaming red and shiny as the potion literally reknitted destroyed tissue back together, leaving behind ghost pain and discoloration that would disappear in due time. During the worst scuffles, the four of them had been red from head to toe, and after Altissia, Ignis' face had burned for weeks even as he knew the physical damage had already been dealt with.

”Right. So, uh, back then it covered most of your upper face and left cheek,” Prompto continued, ghosting fingertips over Ignis' face as he spoke. ”Once I got over the shock of seeing you, I remember thinking about how much that must have hurt. It was so big and so red, even though you told me it had been, what, five weeks since the injury? And I just kept on wondering how you made it out alive in the first place.”

It was a question Ignis had asked himself more than once. He'd been incredibly lucky to survive the explosion, but the amount of damage left behind was a full miracle. All his wounds were superficial, burnt skin and blinded eyes, but the important tissues underneath had survived intact. By all rights, he should have lost his life.

Next to him, Prompto kept on talking. ”Anyways, the pinkness has all gone down by now,” he said. ”There's a couple scars, but they're – well, I really don't know else to say other than that they really don't look that bad to me. Like, I actually think Gladio's scars are more distracting than yours, because of how dark and prominent they are.”

The words made Ignis startle. ”Really?” he asked, almost stupefied. ”But they're–” Ignis stopped, unsure of how to continue. Gladio's scars were highly visible, but so were his burns, and as he racked his brain, he realized that there only was one major difference: while Gladio's scars were generally seen as a sign of bravery, Ignis' burns were a mark of his disability.

Prompto hummed, his hands still lingering on Ignis' face. ”The color isn't that different from your own skin tone,” he murmured. ”A little darker, maybe, but close enough. And since the biggest scar mostly covers your eye socket, it's already kind of – shadowed, and covered by your glasses, so it doesn't stand out that much. Like... I guess it might be a shock seeing it for the first time, but as far as burn scars go, it really doesn't look anywhere near as bad as it could.”

Ignis tried to swallow the weight in his throat. As much as he loathed to admit it, he had always been a little on the vain side, even beyond the expectations posed by his position. As he struggled to find his place in life after their return to Insomnia, insecurities over the smallest of things had crept into his heart, whispering about a ruined future, crumbling skills, a broken soul... Little by little, he brushed them off, but their shadows still remained.

”Thank you, darling,” he sighed, grasping Prompto's hands with his own and lifting them from his face. A moment later, a pair of glasses was pressed into his palm. ”You have done me a great service tonight.”

”No problem, Iggy.” Though Ignis couldn't see it, he knew Prompto was beaming up at him. ”Think you can sleep now?”

Ignis chuckled. ”I can always try,” he said. ”Come, Prompto, it is time we both retired for the night.”

He made to shrug off the blanket and get up but was stopped by Prompto's hand on his elbow, gently tugging at the sleeve of his dressing robe to keep him still. Cold fingers grasped his hand and stayed there, smoothing out his sleeves and playing with old scars on his knuckles. Ignis sat still, almost holding his breath; though Prompto was quiet as the night next to him, he'd curled his body closer and was clearly looking for comfort.

Ignis thought for a moment. ”Is there something bothering you, Prompto?” he asked, already knowing the answer but unsure if the other would be willing to talk to him. One of Prompto's hands settled to cup his thumb, skin cold and clammy in a way that likely had very little to do with the chill of Tenebraean winter.

Prompto's silence lasted so long Ignis was beginning to think he wouldn't speak at all, so when he felt the whispered breath on his shoulder, he almost startled. ”I can see him sometimes,” Prompto confessed, voice scared and humiliated rather than simply quiet.

An icy cold crashed over Ignis as soon as he understood the words. He forced himself to remain still and calm, let Prompto continue holding onto his hand as he tried to think of a suitable response. He knew Prompto, had been there for him when his parents had all but disappeared on him, but at the same time, Ignis _hadn't_ been there for Prompto in the aftermath of the trauma he was still dealing with. After their return to Insomnia, conversation between the two halted for weeks as Ignis struggled with texting and Prompto faltered at the mere mention of a phone conversation. By the time they were properly reunited, Prompto had already shrugged off the worst of his problems and adapted to simply living again, even if his fears still managed to get hold of him at times.

He'd done it all without Ignis, and Ignis didn't know if the help he wanted now was the same help he used to want before everything in their lives fell apart.

Still, he had to try. ”What do you mean?” Ignis ventured. He felt Prompto's body jerk against his side.

”Well, I mean,” he muttered, still holding onto Ignis' hand with fingers beginning to shake. Ignis thought back to the conversation with Cor and Prompto's therapist and wondered if he should just tuck the blond back to bed after all. ”He's just there, y'know? In the corner of my eye. I'll see a shadow and it'll look like the shape of his coat and – and.”

He didn't continue. Carefully, Ignis unfolded his left hand from Prompto's fingers and rested it on his shoulder instead, offering him the other one to play with. Immediately he felt Prompto's hands latch onto him as his entire body sagged under the weight of Ignis's palm. Relief, the advisor thought, then contemplated some more as alarm began to gnaw at his heart. ”Prompto,” he spoke, slow and careful, ”have you told your therapist about this?”

Prompto's body jolted and Ignis knew he was shaking his head. ”I was doing so well,” the younger man gasped into Ignis' shoulder. He didn't elaborate, nor did he need to. Ignis understood.

”Have you thought about telling her?” he asked next; lecturing Prompto on something like this would only cause him to close up.

”I know I should,” Prompto murmured, still hiding against Ignis' neck and shoulder.

Ignis wanted to ask him how long he'd been imagining Ardyn in the shadows. He didn't. ”Perhaps you could let her know once we return home, hmm?” he said, nudging Prompto's body slightly. ”It probably isn't a conversation to be had over a glitchy video chat.”

Prompto's laugh sounded wet. ”Yeah,” he sniffled. A moment later, Ignis felt Pryna move away from their feet, presumably to get closer to Prompto; true enough, she whined and pushed her head into the mess of their limbs, fluffy fur tickling Ignis' fingers. ”I'm just – scared, I guess.”

”It must be terrifying,” Ignis said, sighing; ”yet you bear it all better than any of us could have expected to.”

Prompto laughed, again, still leaning into Ignis' embrace under the blanket. The conversation appeared to be over, so Ignis stood and pulled Prompto up with him, folding the blanket while Pryna shuffled between their legs. ”It's about time we went to bed, I believe,” he said, holding his elbow out for Prompto to take.

”Yeah,” the younger man sighed. ”Thanks, Iggy.”


	14. Prompto III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Imperials arrive and history gets made.

Empress Cyf Tummelt was a gorgeous woman with an indifferent expression and tired eyes. When the Imperial airship touched down where Aranea's ship had landed almost three weeks earlier, Prompto and the others followed the spectacle from a balcony above the bridge as Luna and Ravus welcomed the Imperial delegate. Fingers itching for his new camera, Prompto watched as the Empress stalked down the bridge, the thin cape of her blazing red outfit billowing in the wind. Loqi followed a few steps behind her, and though his hair was much more blonde than her copper-red cut, they held themselves in the same manner: tall and strong, almost haughty, but with an air of grace most runaway models could only dream of possessing.

”I think I'm in love,” Prompto said more than a little dreamily. Noctis chortled and punched his arm.

* * *

The hour following the Empress' arrival included a lot of photographing and even more courteus smiles, the three royal families of Eos posing together for the first time in decades, if not centuries. A formal portrait was taken of Empress Cyf, Loqi, Luna, Ravus, and Noctis, all five of them wearing their respective royal colors and a plethora of jewels. It was the first time Prompto had ever seen Noctis with a crown on his head, a thin circlet with blue gemstones – sapphires, probably, but differentiating between things like that had never been a necessary skill in Prompto's life.

Gladio's arm nudged him and Prompto glanced up at him, startled. ”Everything good, kid?” the taller man murmured.

”Uh, yeah,” Prompto stuttered, glancing across the room to where Noctis and the other royals were being arranged around a chair. ”It's just I've never seen Noct with a crown before and I guess I just... kind of realized he's actually the prince?”

Both Gladio and Ignis spluttered. ”Never?” Gladio asked, shocked. ”Not even in pictures? I mean, he's gotta wear that thing several times a year and there are always journalists around when he does.”

Prompto frowned a little and thought back, trying to remember another instance. ”I don't think so...” he said eventually, thoughtful. ”I mean, I pretty much never read or watch any news about Noct cause I know he'll tell me himself, or I can just ask him if I think there's something we should talk about. And it's not like I get invited to the sort of things – well, I do now, I guess.”

The last of his words disappeared into an embarrassed mumble. King Regis and Noctis only ever broke out their crowns for certain, special occasions, mostly annual celebrations of this and that, from the King's New Year's Speech in early January to the anniversary of his coronation in December. Prompto looked around the room, saw the crowned heads and sighed. He really wasn't just an unimportant tag-along anymore, but a celebrated war hero of his own right; other than Ravus, even the manor staff had taken to thanking him for saving Luna's life whenever they got the chance.

While they were talking, the photographer had finished arranging his subjects and hurried back behind his camera. Empress Cyf sat on the chair, her cape a pool of red on the floor; Loqi and Noctis stood to her right, Luna and Ravus to her left. They all posed and smiled with the patience of one used to sitting for portraits, kind and sweet and incredibly boring. Prompto gazed across the room at the five Imperial soldiers who stood with their backs against the wall, dressed in reds and golds instead of black robotic armors. Though they were all pale and fair-haired, they looked different from each other. They looked human.

Prompto tightened his hold on Pryna's leash and turned his attention back to the photographer, heart thumping loudly in the silence of the room that wasn't actually silent.

* * *

The portrait taken, the photographer and the journalists were all led out of the manor. The athmosphere in the room relaxed immediately, Ravus and Loqi scowling at each other worse than Ravus and Noctis had ever scowled at each other. Prompto looked away before he could start laughing.

The Imperial soldiers had carried two wooden boxes into the room, old and ornate; gifts for later, the Empress had explained when the journalists had asked. The later was now, apparently, and Prompto watched intently as a soldier holding the smaller box approached Cyf, Luna, and Ravus. The air was tense and not without a reason.

”On any other occasion, I would advise the two of you to open the gift in private,” the Empress spoke, eyeying Luna and Ravus with a soft smile, ”however...”

She didn't continue. Ravus nodded and stepped forward, opening the box just a fraction. Prompto couldn't see what was inside but Luna gasped and even Ravus looked shocked, in the heartbroken way. ”My thanks, Your Radiance,” he said, waving an attendant over. ”Take the box to my rooms, please. Do not drop it.”

”Yes, Your Highness.” The man bowed and took the box into his arms, holding onto it as he walked out of the room. After he was gone, the Empress signaled her soldiers forward.

The second box was massive, large enough that Prompto could have hidden behind it if he really needed to, and so heavy that it took two men to carry it. He was surprised when the men turned towards him, Noctis, and the others instead of Luna and Ravus, but then the Empress stepped forward, gliding her hand across the edge of the box as she popped open the locks.

”Earlier, I spoke of gifts,” she said, smiling, ”but in this case, it would be more truthful to say I am merely returning a lost object.”

She opened the lid and Prompto gasped, looking at Gladio whose expression had turned stony but not explicitly upset. Inside the box was his sword, the massive blade clean if a little dull-edged where it rested on shiny black fabric. Noctis murmured a few words into Ignis' ear, looking surprised but nowhere near as confused as Prompto felt. Seeing his bewilderment, Noctis leaned closer.

”We had to leave it behind,” he whispered. ”I'm not surprised you don't remember.”

Though he offered no further explanations, Prompto realized within seconds that he was referring to Gralea. Swallowing, he turned back to Gladio, who still stared at the sword with an unreadable expression. Then, all of sudden, he stepped forward and walked up to the box to finger the hilt of the sword, where Prompto knew his family crest was stamped on the metal.

For a moment longer, Gladio was silent. ”My heartfelt thanks, Your Radience,” he eventually said, turning and bowing deep. When he stood back up, Cyf closed the lid and smiled.

”It is no trouble,” she said. ”We merely happened upon the weapon and recognized the crest on it as we paused to admire it; a blade that worn must have felled many a monster.”

For a moment, Prompto was scared; Gladio's sword put them in Gralea during the fall of Iedolas' army, carrying implications so heavy even he knew they'd be enough to warrant a declaration of war. None came, only the same mysterious smile as manor staff picked up the sword and carried it off.

Neither Ignis nor Noctis looked apprehensive. Prompto, on the verge of panicking, didn't understand.

* * *

The evening hours were dedicated to yet another gala, larger and grander than the ones held before. Prompto dressed in the most formal Crownsguard uniform he owned, then asked Noctis for help in reattaching the Tenebraean unicorn to his chest; his left hand proved too clumsy for guiding the needle into the lock. The lavender ribbon looked out of place on his Lucian blacks, but the medal itself was kind of cool, fancy and so detailed Prompto couldn't help admiring the skill that must have went into its forging.

The gala was held in a large, two-story ballroom surrounded by smaller sitting rooms. When Prompto walked into the room half a step behind Noctis, he was shocked to see banners in three distinct colors hanging from the balcony of the second floor; the Royal Crest of Tenebrae hung in the middle, slightly larger than the two others, but the message was clear. Prompto stared at the banners, mouth agape. He was witnessing history.

It took him a moment to realize they were meant to pose for a photograph. They stood at the top of the stairs leading down to the dance floor, and when Prompto looked back at the doors they had entered through, he saw the three flags had all been hung above the landing where they stood. Cyf and Loqi entered the room with gracious nods at those around and stopped under the red flag, the Empress smiling even as a hush fell over the crowds below. A moment later, Ravus and Luna glided into the room, hand-in-hand, and took their places in the middle of the landing.

Prompto looked at the flags and the people underneath. When the first camera flash went off, he was still staring behind himself, away from the cameras, and he didn't think to turn around until he felt Gladio nudge his arm. He saw the crowds and the camera crew, the occasional journalist and photographer hiding here or there, and knew he was posing for a picture meant for the books of history. Swallowing, Prompto wrapped Pryna's leash around his left hand and smiled.

* * *

The gala was decent enough, though Prompto was definitely starting to understand why Noctis sighed so dramatically every time he was informed of a new formal event on his calendar. He'd only been to a few galas like this, enough to get a general feeling and learn the ropes, and already he found himself almost tired of having to attend such things. Despite his nerves and bouts of anxiety, Prompto liked socializing, and it helped that people had stopped sneering at him after the events leading to New Dawn, but there was nevertheless something inexplicably _tiring_ in chatting with people whose names and faces he only recognized thanks to Gelea's organizational skills and the army of etiquette teachers she'd sent his way.

About an hour and half into the gala, Prompto respectfully bowed himself out of a conversation with a Tenebraean count and slinked past the edges of the dance floor, making sure to disappear into the crowds every time someone as much as glanced at him. He saw both Noctis and Gladio waltzing with young women he couldn't name and grimaced; towards the beginning of the event, he'd been wheedled into a dance with Luna while Ignis held onto Pryna's leash, and as a consequence way too many people had already tried to ask him for a spin.

Hiding behind Pryna and whatever assumptions people made of his health and his need of an obvious assistance dog were enough to keep most people from getting too cozy with him. Still, he was famous, _and_ he'd danced with Luna, _and_ he was obviously on good terms with at least two princes (if not all three of them), all of which apparently made him a _very_ desirable suitor. Prompto had groaned out loud at Ignis' explanation when they'd passed paths with each other.

By some miracle or another, Prompto managed to make his way through the crowd without being stopped. Feeling hot and a bit overwhelmed, he passed the sitting rooms and made for the balconies instead. The first one was already taken by a snogging couple and Prompto only stayed long enough to make sure nothing untoward was happening before skipping away with an embarrassed blush. The second balcony was thankfully empty and Prompto sighed as he stepped into the cooler air.

Darkness had already fallen over Tenebrae before the gala even began, and like on so many evenings before, Prompto made his way to the glass walls to gaze across the city. He couldn't say how long he stood there, forehead pressed against icy glass, but by the time he heard someone clear their throat behind him, the flush of the heat had disappeared from his face. Startling, Prompto turned around, only to find himself face-to-face with Empress Cyf.

”Mr. Argentum,” she said, smiling. ”Do you have a moment to spare?”

Prompto nodded, suddenly flustered, and grasped Pryna's leash with both hands. ”Um, sure thing, Your Radiance,” he stuttered, remembering to bow like he'd been taught to.

Cyf was not a scary woman, but she was indimitating, stout and tall in her blood-red dress and golden ornaments. Prompto had been introduced to her earlier the day but they hadn't shared a conversation beyond polite greetings, and he found himself more than a little apprehensive of the way she was eyeing him. She smiled like Luna did, serene and graceful, but carried herself like Ravus or even Aranea, strong and determined.

Heels clicking on the floor, Cyf moved deeper into the balcony, keeping her distance from both Prompto and the entrance. He was shocked to realize she was purposefully giving him a way out, and though he was sure there was at least one Imperial guard hiding in the shadows past the doorway, he felt like he'd be allowed to walk out of the situation if he needed to. Swallowing, Prompto turned his gaze to Cyf, who had stopped to lean against the glass some steps away from him.

”Would you like to hear an apology on behalf of my countrymen?” she asked, her head cocked almost dangerously.

Prompto opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, actually taking a second to think of an answer. ”No, Your Radiance,” he said after a moment, voice firm; she'd likely been dealing with Iedolas, Verstael, and the MT program longer than he'd been alive, but as far as he knew, she hadn't had a hand in his suffering. ”Thank you for your offer, though.”

Cyf nodded, eyes twinkling. ”Of course,” she said, pausing for a moment. ”How about a thank-you, then, to show gratitude on behalf of both myself and my people?”

Prompto frowned, not sure if he understood for sure what she was referring to. Thanking him for his role in banishing the Scourge was redundant, as it had already been done before, and he didn't think she was talking about him saving Luna's life, either. The Empress, likely seeing his confusion, clarified her statement: ”It may be I will never be able to acknowledge your actions in public, but I would still like to extend my thanks for killing Iedolas and Verstael Besithia.”

Cyf' expression remained almost neutral even as Prompto stared at her in open horror. ”I didn't–” he tried to say, then stopped. If she knew, she knew.

”We seem to be on different pages here, Mr. Argentum,” Cyf said. She began to walk towards him, slow and careful. Prompto squeezed at Pryna's leash and felt her brush against the back of his knees. ”I truly am here to thank you, not to get you or anyone else in trouble. I am unsure if our coup would ever have been successful without your contributions, incidental as they may have been, and believe me when I say that if the matter ever becomes public knowledge, the people of Nifflheim will join the rest of Eos in celebrating you.”

Prompto grimaced, the horror washing over him nothing like the earlier terror. ”Please no,” he gasped, then flushed. ”I'm sorry, I'm not very good at this – politics thing.”

Cyf laughed. She stopped a step away from Prompto and leaned into the glass, a little too close but not uncomfortably so. ”My son thinks you _fun_ ,” she said, mouthing the last word like a curse; ”Prince Ravus appears to agree, and your dear Prince Noctis is probably not even in need of a mention in this context. I'd say that's already more than good enough, hm?”

Prompto spluttered an embarrassed laugh. His face felt hot enough to be on fire and he knew that the dim lightning of the balcony wasn't dark enough to hide the redness rising on his cheeks. Earlier that day, when everyone had lunched together, Prompto had shared a table with Ravus, Loqi, and Aranea, and their discussions over the meal had been full of snark and laughter. Prompto had been surprised to find himself enjoying the company, and though he and Loqi seemed to get along, he hadn't really expected to make a lasting impression so soon and easily.

As his embarrassment waned, so did Cyf' smile. She looked at him with assessing eyes and sighed, glancing around the balcony before speaking. ”Since you met Besithia,” she said, crossing her arms, ”I believe you must know.”

She didn't explain what it was that he had to know, but Prompto understood nevertheless. After a moment of thinking, he nodded. ”I do.”

Cyf sighed and unfolded her arms, suddenly reaching to grasp Prompto's chin with cold fingertips. She tipped his head back, just a fraction, and studied his face as if she'd never seen him before; Prompto, remembering Ardyn holding him in the same manner, felt his breaths falter and stepped away. Cyf held her palms up in a clear sign of surrender.

”My apologies,” she said; ”you look an awful lot like him, you know.”

Prompto thought back to Besithia, his stringy hair and the wrinkles creased to a permanent scowl, and shuddered. He wasn't sure what he'd do if he one day woke up to Besithia's face in his mirror. ”I was made from his DNA, wasn't I.”

Cyf hummed. ”Yes, but I suppose you must have known as much,” she said. ”I knew him when he was a boy – we went to the same school, actually. He was a scholarship student from the slums, a true genius too brilliant to be left to rot, and I was – well, I must admit I never treated him too fairly, back in the day.”

Prompto had grown a Niff in Insomnia. He understood, and grimaced.

”As time passed, I came to see the world for what it was,” Cyf continued, eyes staring in the distance. ”Verstael, however, turned his back to his peers and knelt before Iedolas, promising him atrocities like we'd never heard of before in exchange for power and fame.”

”The MT program,” Prompto whispered.

”Yes. When Verstael first created those tanks of his, we used to call them exo-wombs,” she said, almost bitterly. ”They were designed to help infertile couples conceive a child, or to incubate any fetus born too early. They were a true miracle, and then the military got their hands on them and ruined everything.”

Prompto didn't know what to say to that, so he just nodded, still squeezing Pryna's leash. Cyf sighed and shook her head, almost dislodging the golden circlet gleaming against her hair. ”Stopping the program was my first action after I took the throne. There's nothing I can do to save those already condemned, but at least I can make sure no-one else is ever hurt in the same way again.”

”Yeah...” Prompto sighed and eyed the Empress, ignoring the need to turn his gaze elsewhere. The abolition of the MT program had been part of the new peace treaty, one offered by Nifflheim rather than requested by others, and though Prompto knew better than to completely trust Cyf, it still gave him some comfort to hear there wouldn't be any more children like him born to the world.

”Well, I suppose I should head back to the party,” Cyf said suddenly, flashing him a smile. ”Thank you for your time, Mr. Argentum, and even more importantly, for what you've done for the people of Nifflheim. One day, I wish to see you walk the stairs of the Old Palace as a honored guest of our crown, but until then – fare well.”

Prompto watched her disappear into the hallway, stunned and more than a little overwhelmed. ”Well,” he muttered, bending down to scratch Pryna's ears, ”that sure was something.”

* * *

The morning of their last full day in Tenebrae, Prompto woke up late, warm and cozy under a veritable pile of blankets. He slept in the same type of four-poster bed as all the others, but the curtains reminded him of the MT storage pods and made him claustrophobic, so every night before falling asleep, he made sure the ties holding the curtains were knotted sturdily. Sunlight streamed into the room and into the bed, warm and bright and a testament to how late it must have been.

Even in his sleepy contentment, Prompto knew there was a third presence in the room. Smiling, he opened his eyes, blinking against the barrage of light. Pryna slept at his feet, a ball of white fluff that almost disappeared into the bleached cotton linen piling around them. She huffed sleepily and furrowed her nose deeper into the blankets.

On the other side of his legs, closer to his knees, a pair of eyes watched him wake up. Prompto grinned and patted his belly. ”Umbra,” he breathed, ”there you are.”

Umbra barked softly and crawled closer, without a doubt leaving a trail of black fur on the sheets, but Prompto didn't have it in him to care. He held out his left arm and Umbra settled next to him, resting his snout over his stomach and huffing.

”There's a good boy,” Prompto murmured, petting the white marks on Umbra's face with stiff fingers. ”Wanna go see Luna, hmm?”

Umbra barked, tail wagging. Pryna shuffled over to lick at Prompto's face and he laughed, hugging his free arm around her until she too lied down by his side, tongue lolling and hot breaths tickling the skin of his neck. He'd finally succeeded at something he'd been trying ever since they arrived in Tenebrae, ever since he saw the disguised pain in Luna's eyes when she thought he wasn't looking. She wouldn't have to be lonely anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of all the chapters I've written for this story, this was the hardest one by far. I think I scrapped almost 3k words when things just wouldn't work out the way I wanted them to lmao. Also, this is the last actual chapter, only the epilogue is left after this. I can't believe I'm almost done!!


	15. Epilogue / Prompto IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto checks off Goal #4.

_One day, I'm going to move out of the Citadel and into my own apartment, and my friends will be there to help me move. They'll help me pack..._  
The day came two months after the second anniversary of the New Dawn. As the celebrations calmed down, Prompto sat his friends down and pulled out a piece of paper with a flourish; they knew he'd been looking, and Ignis probably knew he'd made his choice, but none of them knew the deal was done and signed. He'd bought a loft apartment not a long walk from the Citadel, a compromise between needing his privacy and wanting his friends; Prompto himself would have settled for something smaller and cheaper, but saving the world and almost dying in the process had ramped up his Crownsguard pay up to numbers he didn't even want to think about and the industrial-style loft had been too perfect to pass up.

”You know you could just say here,” Noctis said for the billionth time since first hearing about Prompto's desire to move out of the Citadel. He frowned at a small porcelain chocobo and wrapped it up in bubble wrap.

”So you've told me,” Prompto sighed in response, though he still had a grin on his face as he stuffed his beloved chocobo collection into cardboard boxes. ”It's fifteen minutes by foot, dude, you can make it your daily excercise! Get your blood pumping, ya know.”

Gladio cleared his throat and both Prompto and Noctis winced, the latter whispering a thank-you that sounded more like a curse. ”I'm just gonna pretend I didn't hear that,” he said. ”These good to go?”

Prompto glanced at the two boxes and nodded. ”Yeah, thanks.”

While Ignis was in the closet folding clothes into neat, non-wrinkly piles, Gladio was in charge of carrying all of Prompto's belongings out of the Queen Estelle Suite and into the garage. He'd tried to insist that the Citadel had staff to do all the carrying (and packing, and unpacking, and everything else) but Prompto had pouted at him and batted his eyelashes once and that had been the end of the discussion.

(He knew he was being unreasonable but the others were beyond willing to go the extra mile to humor him. Noctis whispered that it had been the same when he'd moved out to the apartment, that everyone had been supportive and glad to give him a touch of normalcy like this.)

It didn't take them long to finish packing and ferrying the boxes to the Crownsguard-approved moving van. Prompto took one last look at the suite that had been his home for just over two years and felt his lips begin to wobble. He bit down and Ignis rested a hand on his shoulder. He'd never felt at home with living like literal royalty but somewhere along the way, he'd fallen in love with the rooms, the window seats and the circular study with ceiling-height bookshelves and a real fireplace. The suite had never been a home, but it had been his.

”Do you need a moment, sweetheart?” Ignis murmured. Prompto shook his head.

”Nah,” he said, wiping the wetness from his eyes. ”It's just – hard, somehow. I don't know.”

They left the room. Someone would come over soon, to swipe away the layers of dust and dog hair and to pick up whatever little trinkets they'd inevitably forgotten, and then the furniture would be covered with sheets and the lights turned off, and last of all, the door would be locked until the next time someone needed the suite. Prompto swallowed and let Noctis throw an arm around his shoulders.

Downstairs, in the garage, Cor and Clarus and even Regis were all waiting. Prompto spluttered when the king grasped him by the shoulder. He was no longer an active Crownsguard – physically and mentally unable to deal with the work any longer – but he was something, a someone, and there really wasn't any need for Regis to speak the words he did. ”You'll always be welcome here,” he said, then grinned mischievously, ”Lord Argentum.”

Prompto knew his face was just as red as it was on the photographs taken after he'd been gifted his title. He hadn't really wanted it and everyone had understood that, but with Tenebrae all but begging for the chance to knight him, something had to be done, and Prompto had chosen Lucis.

Clarus clapped his back and then Cor pulled him into a tight embrace. Someone sniggered but Cor didn't let go, not even when Prompto dug his fingers deep into the back of his Crownsguard jacket. Afterwards, Gladio climbed into the van and the others got into a second car, and then they took off.

 

 _...and Iggy's gonna cook us food to keep us going..._  
Ignis didn't cook for them because Ignis was smarter than Prompto would ever be. Instead of struggling with unfamiliar kitchenware in an unfamiliar kitchen, Ignis had spent the morning preparing an assortment of sandwiches for them, filled with roasted beef and chicken breast fillets and curried fish, the presentation nothing like before, but the taste so good they almost cried.

They had one cooler full of sandwiches and a second cooler full of soda bottles, and hours into the moving day, Ignis pulled out a third one. Prompto watched him fill the freezer with a variety of frozen meals, from pasta bakes to individual portions of soup. Ignis didn't say anything when he rushed over to give him a hug, pressing his face into sweat-damp fabric. When Ignis closed the freezer, Prompto noticed that the reflection on the industrial steel door was smiling.

 

 _...Gladio will be shirtless and he'll carry everything heavy..._  
”Big guy! You gotta take off the shirt!”

Gladio stared at him like he'd gone insane, then looked pointedly at the security guard posted at the door. The man shrugged and Prompto pouted and Gladio sighed. He pulled off the shirt and flexed his arms when Prompto lifted his camera.

Gladio didn't carry everything heavy because most of the furniture had already been delivered during the passing week. He did, however, get stuck with getting the boxes up to Prompto's apartment, and the weather was warm enough that he was soon glistening with sweat. One of Prompto's new neighbors – a young woman he remembered from school and who'd already gone on to become one of the shining stars of the traditional art scene in Lucis – stumbled into the hallway with paint on her fingertips and a tired expression on her face, then flushed bright red at the sight of Gladio's impressive pecs. Prompto laughed and went on to greet her, and she promised to introduce some of the other neighbors to him.

The building was close to the Citadel, but even more importantly, it was at the edge of a neighborhood famous for its artists. Musicians, painters, actors, and writers filled every street, every cafe, every club and park. His apartment had enough space for a proper studio, but it was the neighborhood that had called for him the most. He wasn't far from the Citadel, nor was he stranded alone.

 

 _...I'll buy cheap furniture from TIKEA just to make Noct mad and complain..._  
His furniture didn't come from TIKEA because Ignis had put a stop to that plan before Prompto could even put it in motion. ”I am blind, Prompto,” Ignis had sighed with the desperation of a man about to be sent off to his hundredth war; ”Who do you think is going to assemble your furniture when I am completely and irrefutably incapable of doing it myself?”

Ignis had taken him furniture shopping to a proper store, where nothing came with building introductions, and Prompto had spent way too much money on way too expensive pieces of furniture, but in the end, he had an apartment filled with tables that matched the chairs and fluffy curtains to keep his toes warm in the winter. He made Gladio move the couches around until he was satisfied, then asked Noctis for his help in hanging up the curtains. It didn't compare to the TIKEA plan but it made his heart swell with warmth nevertheless.

 

 _...When everything's done, we'll order pizza and drink beer and they'll all be too tired to leave, so we'll have a sleepover..._  
They arranged furniture and cardboard boxes full of things well into the evening, and when the pizza guy rang the doorbell with his arms shaking under the weight of their order, it was already getting dark outside. Prompto couldn't really drink alcohol with the medications he was on, but Ignis had once again outsmarted them all and bought a few bottles of non-alcohol beer just for him to try. They ate greasy pizza and played cards and had fun, the others barely tipsy around him. Pryna lounged on the floor between them, gnawing at a bone. The sounds of it no longer made Prompto queasy.

Ignis won the game and collected his winnings – a handful of candy and raisins, because they didn't want to bet money but wanted something – and Prompto cleared his throat before Gladio could begin shuffling the cards anew.

”Um,” Prompto began, twisting his hands together while the others turned to face him. Even Pryna looked up, clearly waiting to see if he needed her help. ”So, there's, uh, there's something I've been kind of meaning to tell you for a while. You probably know some parts of it, or already have guessed some things, but I, um. I want to give you the full story.”

Noctis inched closer and touched his elbow. ”You don't have to tell us anything if you don't want to, Prom,” he said. The others made sounds like they agreed.

”Yeah, I know,” Prompto said with a smile. Pryna picked up her bone and moved to sit on his feet. ”But I want to.”

”In that case, we will all listen,” Ignis spoke. He popped one of his victory candies in his mouth and leaned back in his armchair.

Prompto shifted around a bit and thought of the speech he'd written over and over in preparation of this confession. He was scared and nervous, but also fairly sure the others wouldn't desert him over this; and if they did, he'd still have Cor to back him up. ”So, um,” he began, then stopped. He slipped of the bracelet on his right arm and showed the barcode to Noctis and Gladio. ”I was meant to be a Magitek soldier.”

Ignis sighed and nodded like he'd known all along. Gladio and Noctis scooted closer to take his arm while they stared at the barcode inked over skin that had hardly ever seen the light of day. They both looked a bit angry, but when they turned to face Prompto, both their expressions softened.

”I had assumed as much,” Ignis spoke up when no-one else would. ”I'll admit I had some fairly... macabre thoughts over your use of bracelets to hide your wrist, but the signs began to click together while you were still in high school. Of couse, I couldn't confirm my doubts anywhere, and asking you never felt right. Either way, by then I had already befriended you and the issue didn't seem important enough to bring up, especially as you had already passed your background checks with nothing worth noting.”

Noctis' thumb brushed over the old scars around the barcode and Prompto chuckled. ”Those macabre thoughts probably weren't too far from the thought, Iggy,” he said, shrinking into himself when the advisor exhaled loudly over the admission. ”I wanted to remove the ink, but nothing ever worked. I promise, that's all the scars are.”

Gladio made a pained sound. ”Sweet Shiva, Blondie,” he murmured, still shocked. ”I had no idea.”

Meanwhile, Noctis had let go of his arm in order to throw himself at Prompto, who immediately leaned into the embrace. ”Just don't ever do that again,” Noctis murmured, then huffed. ”I can't believe I never saw a damn thing.”

”I didn't want you to,” Prompto said. He bit his lip before continuing. ”When I first talked about it with Cor, after we came back home, I thought for sure he'd either send me to exile or have me excecuted.”

His words were met with three pained groans. Gladio finally let go of his hand and Prompto turned in Noctis' arms so he could return the hug. Ignis, across the table, leaned his face against his palms. ”Oh, darling,” he sighed, almost on the brink of tears himself. ”Now I wish I had talked to you earlier.”

Gladio reached over to squeeze Ignis' knee. ”How'd you know, anyways?” he asked. He glanced at Prompto and grimaced. ”I always thought – I mean, I saw you fiddling with that bracelet every time you got spooked or nervous about something, and I just assumed it was an anxiety thing or stimming or something, I don't know. Didn't wanna embarrass you by asking about it, but looking back...”

He sighed and shook his head. Prompto saw Ignis turn to him, head cocked in thought. ”It's my face, isn't it?” he asked quickly. ”The reason you figured it out, I mean.”

Ignis nodded as both Gladio and Noctis glanced at him in confusion, then in pained understanding. ”Indeed,” he admitted; ”I saw a picture of... a certain someone, whose features were far too similar to yours for it to be coincidence.”

”Yeah,” Prompto huffed. He leaned his head on Noctis' shoulder and smiled sadly. ”Verstael Besithia. I'm part of the program where he cloned himself.”

”Fucking _shit_ , Prom,” Gladio cursed. Noctis, meanwhile, went still.

”Did you–” he began, clearly hesitating. ”Did you meet him? At the Keep?”

Prompto pressed his lips into a thin line, trying to resist the urge to laugh. ”Yeah, I did,” he said after a moment. ”Put a bullet in his brain while I was at it.”

While Noctis froze once again, Gladio choked on nothing, spluttering so hard that Ignis reached over to pat his back with swift slaps. ”Oh, my,” the advisor murmured, both shocked and intrigued. Prompto grinned into Noctis' shoulder. ”That's certainly – interesting.”

The question wasn't even implied in Ignis' words, but Prompto answered it nevertheless. ”I also got Iedolas,” he offered. Gladio stood up from the couch and walked away, face red as he gasped for breath. Noctis groaned and tried his best to hide his face in the folds of Prompto's hoodie.

”Is that why the Empire's been nagging about you visiting them?” he asked. Gladio, finally able to breathe, slapped Prompto over the head before plopping down on his previous seat.

”I'm never letting you out of my eyesight,” he groused. ”Fucking _never_.”

”Oh? I guess that means you're moving in with me then!” Prompto grinned and waited until the laughter had died out before answering Noctis' earlier question. ”But, yeah, that's pretty much why the Empress is so – ugh, interested in me? Like she invited me over when we met in Tenebrae, but from what I've been told, it sounds like we're all gonna have to head over like within a year or so? Probably on the next anniversary.”

Noctis grabbed his arms and leaned away from him, squinting. ”Is this what you and dad have been talking about?” he asked, suspicious. ”Cause let me tell you, there aren't a lot of things you're allowed to know before me, and this sounds like one, if it's got to do with you killing Iedolas. And can I just say wow? Because wow. Mind blown, dude.”

Prompto nodded and exhanged a shy look with Gladio, who was still shaking his head. ”Um, yeah,” he said. ”Your dad's been talking with the Empress and she thinks that things in Nifflheim are finally stable enough that she can come clean with what really happened to Iedolas. She just, um, she kind of wants me to agree to it though, cause I'm kind of... involved in the mess, ha.”

Ignis hummed thoughtfully. ”Indeed...” he murmured. ”I imagine most of Eos would take the confession as yet another reason to worship you, but as some of Iedolas' old loyalists do still exist...”

That had been the gist of the many conversations between Prompto, King Regis, and occasionally even Empress Cyf. He didn't care for or need any extra recognition – even the titles and medals he currently held had been a hard piece to swallow – but at the same time, Prompto knew the truth would eventually leak out. Shrugging, he told his friends as much and watched as reluctant acceptance settled on Gladio and Ignis' faces. Noctis, however, sniggered.

”You know I'm gonna but you in my Council when I take the throne, right?” he cackled.

”What?” Prompto gasped, horrified. ”No!”

Noctis shook his head, still laughing. ”Seriously, every time I gotta deal with Ravus or Loqi, I'll just throw you at them and that's a problem solved!”

Prompto whined as the others all laughed at him

 

 _...and I won't be afraid anymore._  
Just past midnight, they finally decided it was time to get to bed. Ignis and Noctis agreed to split the hastily made guest bed in the actual guest room, both things Prompto hadn't even dreamed of owning while planning out his life. Deep inside, he wanted to share his bed with one of his friends as well, but he knew it was a risk not worth taking. Mornings were still difficult sometimes, especially after long days or nightmares, and he was afraid of getting confused in the haze of waking up. Gladio was supposed to sleep on the pull-out couch in what would very soon transform into Prompto's studio for all his arts and crafts needs, but they were all too drunk and exhausted to figure out the actual pull-out part so Gladio just threw himself down on the seats and pulled a blanket over his head, waving the others out of the room. They'd all made do with much worse than a sparkling new couch in a sparkling new apartment.

After the others had gone to bed, Prompto dragged his feet upstairs to his own rooms. Pryna trailed after him, hopping up the steps one-by-one with little paws that made no sounds in the quieting night. Prompto stopped on the landing and trailed his left hand up the handrail, gazing down to the first floor in thought. The round sofa table was still littered with playing cards, candy, and empty aluminium cans, and a pile of flattened cardboard boxes had fallen down near the front door. From the balcony, Prompto could see most of the living area, the couches and the TV, the dining table and a small part of the kitchen counters below him. They hadn't finished setting up all the curtains so light still pooled in from the massive, two-story windows, soft and pale next to the streetlamps and harsh and multicolored by the neon signs.

A shadow stood in the middle of the staircase, just within Prompto's range of vision. It took the shape of a bulky coat, dark and foreboding. He knew from experience that the shadow would disappear if he tried to chase it with his gaze, so Prompto kept his eyes locked straight ahead, on red tile and dark bookshelves and a pile of books he'd have to arrange the next day.

”I'm not afraid of you,” he whispered into night, holding onto the handrail. Pryna nosed at his knee. ”You don't scare me anymore.”

He looked at the empty stairs and, seeing nothing, went to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, this is the end! I can't believe I'm actually posting the last chapter! This was my first fic in this fandom and now, at 60k words, I'm done. Unbelievable.
> 
> Millions and millions of thanks for everyone who had read, kudoed, and commented! I always post right before I go to bed so that in the morning, I'll wake up to new comments to cheer up my day for me. I was really nervous about posting this since I hadn't used ao3 for anything but reading before, but you have all made this an amazing experience and I'm so grateful for all your support <3
> 
> So, what's next?  
> 1) In this verse: I'm planning on one longer oneshot about Nyx and Libertus returning to Galahd, as referenced in Nyx' chapter. I'd also like to write something with Lunafreya and Ravus but I'm not yet sure. Might do some short scenes that didn't fit in the chapters, but again, I'm not sure.
> 
> 2) HOME, a series: I'll be writing and posting as planned, though I'll probably change the update schedule to three times a week since I no longer have to update Home from Gralea. This series will continue to run for at least a few more weeks.
> 
> 3) I started an a/b/o verse for some reason?? I don't know what I'm doing but it's turning out really fluffy (when compared to my other fics, at least) and I'm kind of liking it so I might post it eventually. Not my usual cup of tea, but surprisingly fun nevertheless.
> 
> 4) Even before I started writing Home from Gralea, I was writing a fic in which Prompto is abused by his teacher, with focus on Noctis et al finding out and helping him through it. I didn't plan it well enough to continue writing it, and now I feel like I'm maybe getting kind of repetitive with my fics, since that's pretty much the plot of EVERYTHING I have written and posted here so far lmao. I might try rewriting this sometime in the future, but for now, I've got a lot of other pieces to focus on :)


End file.
